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THE AMERICAN SPIRIT 




LIEUT. BRIGGS KILBURN ADAMS R-F_C. 



THE AMERICAN SPIRIT 

LETTERS OF 

BRIGGS KILBURN ADAMS 

If 

LIEUTENANT OF THE 

ROYAL FLYING CORPS 



WITH A PREFACE BY 
ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER 




BOSTON 
The ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS, Inc. 

1918 



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Copyright 1918 
By W. I. Lincoln Adams 






M 13 1919 



ICI.A512146 



PREFACE 

IN the autumn of 1916 among the seventy or eighty stu- 
dents enrolled in a course in English Composition that I 
was giving at Harvard University was Briggs Kilbum 
Adams. For some time he remained only a name to me; yet 
in the themes that bore his name I soon found myself taking a 
special interest. For they revealed two facts about him: he 
had spent the previous summer driving an ambulance in 
France, and he had unusual ability to describe what he had 
seen and felt. 

When he came to me for a conference, I recognized in 
him the boy who had been sitting in the front row and look- 
ing up at me during my occasional talks to the class, with an 
expression embarrassingly intent — relieved now and then 
from any suggestion of over-appreciation by a flicker, equally 
embarrassing, of quizzical humor. He was tall and well 
built and handsome; his bluish-gray eyes were shaded by 
long, curling eyelashes, his mouth had a gentle, sensitive 
curve, his fingers were long and slender, indicating the ex- 
cellent musician that he was; he spoke in a low, rather slow 
voice, and seemed an attractive combination of shy reticence 
and willingness to be drawn out. He told me a little about 
his work in France — how he had driven wounded at four 
miles an hour and suff'ered because he knew that even then 
the slight bumping over rough places was agonizing to them. 
The fine sensitiveness of a gentle and sympathetic nature 
showed in his talk, as always in his writing. 

But none of his work at this time had the quality of thought 
and style to be found in the letters to the dearly-loved mem- 
bers of his family after he had begun to fly. As I wrote to 
his father when a few of these letters first appeared in the 
Harvard Alumni Bulletin: " He never wrote anything for me 
which could compare with these letters, and nothing else that 
has been written about the war, that I have read, can com- 

[5] 



pare with them. They are the most beautiful bits of writing 
that have come out of the war — beautiful in style and color 
and motion. No one else has taken me up in the air and 
shown me what it must be to fly; no one else has presented 
so vivid a figure of war as it should be portrayed. And the 
little touch about perhaps finding his lost sister Carol ' on 
the other side of the next cloud,' is one of those wonderful 
bits of simplicity and imagination that come only to the 
gifted and are to be found only in great literature." 

What could be finer than the passage in that notable letter 
to his mother in which he writes: " I go about, as it were, 
hands with palms out, all about my heart, holding things 
outside of it. I am conscious of things I don't like, or dis- 
comforts sometimes . . . but I won't let them get into the 
inside where they hurt. If I can change them, I can do it 
just as well keeping them outside, and if I can't change them, 
— well, what does it matter? — they're outside." 

As a Harvard professor said of this passage, it is the his- 
toric "They shall not pass," as applied to personal life. 

Professor Francis G. Peabody, of Harvard, writing to 
Major Adams, said of the letters printed in the Harvard 
Alumni Bulletin shortly after Lieutenant Adams's death, that 
" they are not only gallant and beautiful in their feeling, but 
singularly elevated in their style, as though his new ex- 
perience had lifted him into new levels of expression and 
given to his language something of the clearness and fresh- 
ness of the upper air. All who love or serve Harvard Uni- 
versity — and indeed all lovers of noble young men — must 
read these letters with a renewed sense of spiritual education, 
which the tragedies of the time are providing, and will share 
the happy pride with which you must think of his short but 
complete career." 

At the time when my acquaintance with Briggs Adams 
began, his interests had awakened and were reaching out 
in many directions. His love of nature, of literature, and 

[6] 



of music — he was a leader of the 'Varsity musical clubs 
in many of their concerts — was alive and growing. He 
liked to experiment with verse-forms, to analyze the mood 
inspired by a symphony, to record the impressions received 
in a walk through the woods. But in his themes and in his 
talk he kept reverting, of course, to the one great theme — the 
war. He had come back from France, passionately longing to 
see his country in the war, passionately longing to take an 
active part in the war himself. Indeed, before leaving France 
to return to complete his college education, he had enrolled 
for service the following year in the Lafayette Escadrille. 

In April, 1917, he finished with college — as did so many 
other ardent youths. His first efforts to enter the aviation 
service met with failure. How well he finally succeeded 
is revealed in his letters and testified by his comrades. He 
graduated first in a class of twenty with an average of 94, 
the highest mark that had been achieved up to that time. A 
fellow cadet wrote of his flying in England before he had 
won his Lieutenant's commission as follows: — 

" Our boys here — the seven who came with me — are 

ready for instruction on the ' real ' machines fighting 

buses. B. K. Adams, who is a splendid flyer, has already 

graduated, and will go to soon. He gave one of the 

finest exhibitions I have seen and boosted our stock 100 per 
cent. He was taken ' dual ' on this ' real ' machine, and 
after only ten minutes' instruction, and one landing, he said 
he could ' fly it alone.' Permission was granted, and he got 
away perfectly, took the bus up to about 6000 feet, looped 
it four times in succession, then put it into a spin, coming 
out beautifully. To give you an idea of what these buses are, 
I will simply say that at one time B. K.'s speed indicator 
registered 155 miles per hour! It was a splendid showing, 
and we are all waiting our turn, trusting we can do likewise 
and ' carry on.' " 

War requires of a man the display of more rugged quali- 

[7] 



ties than a fine sensitiveness; and those rugged qualities 
Briggs Adams had, by direct inheritance. He was descended 
from Henry Adams, of Braintree, Massachusetts, the common 
ancestor of Samuel Adams and John Adams; and on his 
mother's side from the Wilson family of Virginia, of whom 
one member was killed fighting at Monmouth and another 
fell in the War of 1812. With such ancestry it is not sur- 
prising that Briggs Adams should have dedicated himself to 
the greatest of all struggles for human liberty. It is inter- 
esting and significant that his father and two brothers are in 
military service. 

Most of the letters printed in this volume were written 
after he had enrolled in the Royal Flying Corps. It has, 
however, been thought wise to include a few letters written 
during his college period and while he was driving an ambu- 
lance in France, for the additional light that they shed upon 
his character and development. 

His last letter was dated March 11, 1918. On March 14, 
a stormy and misty day, Briggs Adams was flying at the 
front, with a comrade of his squadron. The comrade missed 
him; and, descending, found him dead in his airplane in a 
field. It is not known whether he was brought down by an 
enemy projectile, or was the victim of an accident. All 
that is certain is that he was killed in active service while 
flying on the battle-front. 

Tlie appearance of a few of Briggs Adams's letters in the 
Atlantic Monthly for October, 1918, caused a widespread 
expression of deep interest. Thoughtful readers assigned to 
them a high place in the spiritual literature of the war. All 
that is noble and chivalrous in the American spirit is revealed 
in them; yet they were written by Lieutenant Adams with no 
thought of revealing anything to the world, but only to con- 
vey the warmth and encouragement of his spirit to those at 
home whom he dearly loved. A c p 

Milton, Massachusetts 

November 1, 1918 [8] 



FROM HARVARD 

Westmorly Court, Cambridge, March, 1916. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

If my examinations have been like the Sword of Damocles 
hanging over your heads, you can well imagine what it means 
to me to have that sword removed; for now I am absolutely 
clear of everything, and my path lies pretty straight ahead 
toward an A.B.; and along the side of that path I can see 
possibilities which may make the journey very pleasant. . . . 

I am appreciating very much more what it means to have 
this opportunity for study here in college; I can almost feel 
myself growing and broadening from day to day, — not so 
much in technical knowledge, as in my capacity for appre- 
ciating things. I never could see, for instance, the use of 
learning about the life and character of an author, when it 
was his works which we read; but this week we have taken 
up the poet Pope in one of my courses, and having studied 
his life and realizing his acute sensitiveness, I can appreciate 
the state of mind which produced his great Satires. 

To-night I was reading the Spectator papers of Addison 
and Steele. I liked especially those about Sir Roger de 
Coverley. In high school we had to read and study them 
in a way which made them seem highly uninteresting; but 
to-night I seemed to get into the atmosphere of these delightful 
papers, and I fairly love the old Knight for his simplicity 
and genuineness. He was constantly thinking of others, and 
yet, with all his Christian virtues, he had his own little foi- 
bles, such as napping in church, and sending his servants to 
waken others whom he had discovered asleep. His state of 
mind, so happily complacent, reminded me again and again 
of dear old Grandmother Adams as she always was, content 
with simple things, loving all and being loved by all who 
knew her, unquestioning in faith, — she really was a beauti- 
ful example. 

The other night I took my violin out to play with H. M., 
and as we were playing Schubert's Serenade I recalled the 
picture of not so very long ago, when on a Sunday Grand- 
mother would be sitting in our library at home, fanning her- 
self, and watching us sympathetically as we laughed and 
talked. Then Wilson and Beth would begin to play the 

[9] 



Serenade, and her face would immediately light up with 
pleasure, she would draw her chair close to Wilson's, and 
sit there listening in perfect content. She had indeed no 
subtle or complex artistic appreciation of music, but loved 
it for its own sake, especially that Serenade. 

I certainly enjoyed that evening with H. M. She is one of 
the few girls I know who, while being attractive, yet puts 
aside the feminine appeal, and you can enjoy her company 
quite impersonally. She plays well enough to read most of 
my accompaniments, and we played together all the old 
things, such as the Swan Song, the Berceuse, the Serenade, 
etc. I never played with better tone, and those old things, 
which seemed so uninteresting as I used to squeak through 
them in my old toneless days, when I was learning them, 
seemed now rarely beautiful to me, and I cannot begin to 
tell you how much I enjoyed that evening. I came back to 
college and slept like a log. 

With much love from your devoted son. 



[10] 



FIRST VIEWS OF WAR 

France, July 2, 1916. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

The trip has been of the greatest interest so far because of 
its entire novelty. I had not realized a foreign country could 
be so foreign. On shipboard I noticed the change mostly in 
the cooking. Also the French are always shaking hands; 
when they meet in the morning, when they meet at lunch and 
when they go to bed. 

The passengers held a sort of amateur concert two nights 
before we landed, for the benefit of the wounded soldiers. 
Among the various amateurs were two professionals, a so- 
prano and a tenor, from the French Opera Company. They 
sang many of the familiar Victor records, and did very well 
so far as voices were concerned. The funny part was the 
way they pitched into it. The soprano would weep and laugh 
and work as hard as if she were before an audience of many 
thousands. 

In closing, they sang the Marseillaise in a most dramatic 
manner. Most of the passengers were French, and they all 
stood up, and, holding their breaths tense, with eyes staring, 
they fairly drank in the words; and all joined in the chorus, 
shrieking, rather than singing it. 

Among the seventy passengers, they raised something over 
twelve hundred francs, 125 of which I contributed; but not 
from my own pocket. They got the tenor and soprano to sign 
a program; and, as I had given them stories as my part of the 
show, they wished the job of auctioneering it off, on me. I 
surprised myself by finding my experience of farm auctions 
had not been forgotten. I strung an awful line of " bull." 
It went very slowly from 15 francs up. When it got up to 
20 francs I saw it was doomed ; so, pretending it was a great 
concession, I said that the one who would give 25 for it 
could have the program. (I would n't have given a quarter 
for it myself!) I noticed one Frenchman who had been 
bidding occasionally, so I sprung it on him as if he had 
said he would take it. And he was so surprised and sort of 
pleased to have the distinction that he said "Yes," and came 
across. 

[11] 



We had several hours in Bordeaux, which we spent driving 
around. As a foreign city it was very attractive, I thought; 
but it was strange to see stone buildings everywhere. The 
fare to Paris is something over forty francs. We came 
through free! It is pretty soft being an ambulance driver. 
One is not uncomfortable in plain clothes as in England, for 
here the Army service is universal and it is only voluntary 
there. So if a man is in civilian clothes here they Icnow he is 
either a foreigner or has some good reason; however, when 
in uniform, you are less conspicuous and you get half prices 
everywhere. Paris gets dark after sunset, but all the regular 
French places are going, except the Opera and the Comedie 
Frangaise. 

The streets are crowded and busy, and everywhere you see 
women doing men's work. Conductors, street sweepers, 
clerks and the street venders, market-women and paper-sell- 
ers, singing their wares in some little tune of three and four 
notes, quite unlike the New York way. We were just about 
to go on the Bois before noon to-day, for we were told that 
was the time to see the classy stuff; but we had a call, and so 
had to remain near by the Ambulance. 

The dormitories were full, so about thirty of us fellows 
are staying in a vacant private house, which is referred to 
as the " chateau." When I heard I was to live in a chateau, 
I thought of the old days at the farm when Vincent was so 
amused by my remark, "chateau — big word!" From the 
street only a lot of little houses and high walls are to be seen. 
You pass through the gates from the porter's lodge, into a 
very lovely little court, very quiet, secluded and cool. The 
house is stripped now of all its furnishings, but it is easy to 
see that it was very luxurious. 

The foreign part of it comes in again when it comes to 
water. There was not a bathroom in the house, so the 
Ambulance had one installed, three basins on the second floor, 
and three showers in the cellar, for thirty to use all at once, 
and just cold water at that! 

There are six of us in a room that used to be a reception 
room on the ground floor, but my bed is near a window, so 
it is not bad. There are no hooks, no closets, no chiffonier, 
so you cannot unpack; and you have to have your bags 
either under or on your bed. But all inconveniences are 

[12] 



passed by with a shrug of the shoulder and the remark, 
" C'est la guerre." 

We saw some terrible results of German warfare. I saw 
one man with only a slight wound, but whose nerves were 
so gone that he couldn't hold himself in a chair, but would 
literally shake himself off. Another fellow had both legs 
and arms gone, and his head all bandaged. Another whose 
face was burned to a charcoal. Eyes, nose, all gone, but 
living. One expects bullet wounds, or to lose a limb or 
two, even a head, if necessary, but to have a blackened mis- 
shapen nothing for a head and still live, makes you realize 
that not only is this the biggest but the most horrible war of 
all history. 

I find only thoughts bother me. Even the odors in the 
Ambulance trains, which are awful, do not phase me. I am 
getting a lot of interesting experiences and even if I cannot 
go out to the front, I am close enough to hear the guns at 
night, and get first-hand accounts. It looks as if the big 
drive had really started, so we will be busy here for some 
time. But we have plenty of hands and will work in shifts, 
and so get on all right. 

Much love to all. 

American Ambulance, France, July 2, 1916. 
Dear Line, — 

Much obliged for your nice steamer letter. I read it 
about half way across. . . . All the Fords are out at the 
front, so I can drive a regular car after all. They do have 
some time at the front, believe me; I wish I could get out 
there. There is such a terrific noise, and so continuous, that 
it is almost like quiet. 

One fellow was about fifty feet ahead of an ammunition 
wagon when a shell hit it and blew the whole thing up; killed 
the horses and driver, but the fellow driving the ambulance 
did not hear anything of it, until he was stopped and sent 
back. 

All our cars are around Verdun, and after it is dark, they 
begin to work. They fall in line with the ammunition and 
food wagons and go along in pitch darkness and no lights. 
The Germans know exactly where the roads are now, so they 
jcan set their guns in a certain position and know they are 

[13] 



hitting the road. They know the ammunition and reinforce- 
ments are coming up all night, and so they fire away and get 
a lot of them. 

The Fords drive along as tight as they can. They cannot 
see the holes in the road that the shells make, so if they do 
not avoid them by instinct, they have to get lifted out by 
the constantly passing stream of soldiers; that is why they 
use Fords. They can pick them out of holes easier. If they 
manage to keep out of the holes they have to dodge the big 
wagons going the other way; horses going at full gallop, or 
big trucks tearing like mad. They cannot hear them coming 
because the noise is too great. Then to add to the charm 
of driving is the constant popping of shells. When they 
come back over the same road they find twenty or thirty new 
holes to fall into! 

Any number of cars have been smashed, and fellows are 
getting nicked all the time, for they are more exposed than 
the men in the trenches. One fellow had a blow-out, so he 
got out to fix it. Just then a shell took off the seat he had 
left. Another driver was lying underneath his car fixing 
something. A shell hit it and knocked the car away and 
smashed it to bits, while he was left there lying on his back 
in the road with his hands reaching up holding a wrench, 
more surprised than you could imagine, and without a 
scratch. 

Another fellow was famous for being the rottenest driver 
in that section. In one of the worst places he stalled his en- 
gine. While he was down cranking it, a shell went through 
his car killing one of the wounded fellows. The driver got 
his Croix de guerre for bravery under fire! If he had been 
a decent driver he would have been out of the way and would 
not have got it. 

" This is a great life if you don't weaken." 

Aeroplanes are as thick as flies about here. Just now I 
can see three playing tag, pretending one is a German and 
chasing it. 

Study hard. Line, so you can get up a class or two; for 
there may be a time like this when you would like to take a 
year off, but can't do it because you are getting too old, have 
to go to work, or get married! 



[14] 



JuiLLY, July 24, 1916. 
Dear Family, — 

Your " round-robin " of the first of July came last week 
and I assure you it was much appreciated. I could see the 
big envelope standing addressed and stamped on the sitting 
room desk with father s letter in it, and hear his last word 
when leaving: " Be sure and get it off in time for the 
steamer." 

It was very nice to get it and hear the news and see the 
snap-shots, etc. But I hate to cause so much labor. As far 
as I am concerned I do not need any more letters here than 
when in Cambridge. For once here, the realization of the 
distance separating us is lost, so hereafter only write when 
the spirit moves. 

I have had a most perfect week here in the Ambulance. 
There are five squads of five cars each, and every week one 
squad calls out here to do what little work is necessary. It 
just happened we have not had a single train to meet, so we 
had nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. The town is just 
like a hundred other little French towns, nothing of interest 
in it except this old college, in which the hospital is tem- 
porarily located. The building is made of stone, the walls 
at least four feet thick at the base. It was begun in the 
twelfth century, and the college founded in the sixteenth. 
Jerome Bonaparte was one of the better-known graduates. 
It has a little park attached, with a pond, on which there are 
several swans swimming. It is the most peaceful, quiet 
place, full of suggestive atmosphere. 

And the fellows in this squad are all very nice, and but 
one older than I, being in the thirties. The sergeant is an 
Englishman exempt from service for some physical trouble. 
He is a circus in himself. Every minute of the day he is 
saying or doing some ridiculously funny thing, and he has a 
very fine bass voice, by which ordinarily he earns his living. 
One evening we came upon a piano in one of the empty reci- 
tation rooms. One of the fellows sat down and began to 
play, and I happened to find a violin in good condition 
in the cupboard. The sergeant brought out some songs, and 
we spent a very enjoyable evening. 

The food here is very much better than at the Ambulance 
at Neuilly. So to keep from getting stout I have to take long 

[15] 



walks each day to some nearby town. Juilly is within a cou- 
ple of miles of the farthest advance by the Germans on Paris 
in September, 1914, and the place where actual fighting took 
place is within easy walking distance. We hired a car the 
other day and went for quite a long ride, to and through 
the region of the Battle of the Mame, and it was very inter- 
esting. Hundreds of graves are lying in every direction ac- 
cording as the men fell, the Germans mixed in among the 
French, the former being marked only by a black stick, while 
the latter are marked by a wooden cross and a wreath or two. 
You would never believe one of the greatest battles of the 
world had been fought here; for everywhere rich crops of 
grain are growing, and nothing is prettier than the golden 
oats, among which are scattered red poppies and blue bache- 
lor buttons, like kale in our oats at Hilltop Farms. 

All the week we have had wonderful weather. First time 
it happened for a long stretch, so the week has been a treat 
and rest from the broken nights and the pressing work. The 
trouble with it is that we have so much of the unpleasant side 
of war, with none of the excitement of the front to make it 
worth while. Still I get a lot of anecdotes and tales from 
the fellows who come in from the front, so it is better than 
nothing. We return to-day and I shall now begin the French 
lessons I spoke of. It will give me something to work on 
at odd moments, and hearing French spoken on all sides, I 
ought to be able to pick up quite a lot before I leave. 

Good food and walks each day this week have put me in 
prime condition, and it has been a relief to know that you 
can go to bed at night and can sleep till morning. In Neuilly 
you always feel agreeably surprised to find that it is morn- 
ing, when you wake up, for so often it is night. / am never 
going to be a fireman. 

The car we went out in the other day was hired. It had 
not been requisitioned because they thought it would not run. 
It looked as though it had been through the war, having but 
two cylinders, an old 1907 Renault with four gears. The 
fellow that owned it had half a dozen more scattered around 
his yard like it. They all seem to run, for I have seen him 
out in several different ones. One was a oTie-cylinder with 
everything so loose that it would flap all over the road from 



[16] 



side to side as it ran. The old fellow would drive serenely 
along, leaning forward like Smalley in his Ford! 

The other day we saw eleven aeroplanes in a bunch flying 
like a lot of swallows. You can never look up without seeing 
at least two or three flying around. If all America could 
move over and see a bit of this war, if only as little as I 
have seen, it would have a wonderful effect. It would make 
our people realize what a fearfully hateful crime it is, so 
that those who shout for war would quail and make them- 
selves as small as possible, and the pacifists would get into 
uniforms and enter the trenches and fight to exterminate the 
rest of the Prussians from the earth. No one in America can 
begin to know what it is, no matter how much you read or 
have been told, it takes but a glance here to make the realiza- 
tion almost insupportable, one just can't think. 

If the Germans could possibly ever be so wngermanized 
as to see it all in the true light, there would be a most terrific 
upheaval in Germany. France is using so much energy in 
the fight there is none left for the thought of the cost; they 
just go on paying, paying, and dying, dying; but no other of 
the belligerents is in it the way France is. 

Much love and many thanks for the letters. 



[IT] 



IN THE AIR SERVICE 

R. F. C, Cadet Wing, 
Long Branch, Ontario, 
August 10, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

This is the first chance I have had to write, for we have 
been pretty busy. I got up here Wednesday morning and 
was all day taking the physical examinations and getting en- 
rolled. I am now a British subject and will hold the com- 
mission when I get it till the end of the war. Ninety out of 
one hundred fellows in the corps are American. There is a 
company of Plattsburgers here studying aviation, and this 
morning the Captain said we must " compete with the Ameri- 
cans in keeping our company streets cleaned up." It got 
quite a laugh when some one spoke up and said we could n't 
" compete " with them, for we were all Americans. 

The officers are all very attractive and treat us well. The 
whole place is well organized and no time is wasted on non- 
essentials. The camp is on the shore of Lake Ontario and 
we can look across and see the States dimly on the other side. 
The sun is hot in the middle of the day, but there is a good 
fresh breeze blowing all the time, so we keep cool and the 
nights are almost cold. We sleep in tents on comfortable cots 
with the wind blowing through. The food is very simple and 
might be worse prepared. 

We shall probably be here a full week, maybe two or 
three, when we shall go back to Toronto for four weeks of 
studies. Then we go out to some nearby flying field for a 
couple of months' instruction in flying with a pilot. Then 
we go to the finishing field at Borden for flying alone; then 
we qualify for a commission, but do not receive it until we 
get to England. 

Much love to all. 

Long Branch, Ontario, August 15, 1917. 
Dear Father, — 

They are working us very hard drilling, and the 
English drill is tiring; they do not march in natural step but 

[18] 



much faster, often as high as 150 and not less than 140 per 
minute. Then on all the turns there is a lot of stamping. 
The effect is very smart, but an hour of it tires you out. 
We are in the British, not the Canadian army. When the 
branch was started in 1912, instead of being made a minor 
branch of a minor branch, as ours is under the Signal Corps, 
it was made the ranking regiment over all the oldest and most 
famous English regiments, and now, as you know, has a 
separate cabinet officer. In every way, by men and officers, 
the R. F. C. is treated as the pet of the army. A couple of 
fellows got " cold feet " the other day, before they had gone 
up at all, just at the prospect; so they applied for discharge 
and were given it. Some can't help being scared. Almost 
every one is, but either they control the feeling or do not 
join in the first place. I hope to be sent back to the Uni- 
versity Monday. Or they may keep us out here another 
week or more. 



Long Branch, August 23, 1917. 
Dear Dad, — 

To-day it is raining, so we do not have to drill for an 
hour before breakfast as we generally do. That hour always 
seems the longest in the day because we are so empty. We 
get up at 5.30 and don't breakfast until 8; to-day we are 
having only lectures, which make a nice change. 

Each afternoon a new lot of fellows come in, and at seven 
o'clock, when the bugle blows for guard mount, we dress 
some fellow up in an officer's uniform, get the new recruits 
out and drill them for an hour or so; then we send them 
before a supposed medical officer who finds they have all 
sorts of diseases for which they must be operated on, and they 
get scared to death, for they are so green they do not see 
through it; then we send them after so many yards of skir- 
mish line, and " the key to the camp," et cetera, finally 
marching them down to the Lake for a swim. 

It certainly is getting like fall up here. The rumor is now 
pretty definite that all the aviation fields here in Canada 
will close September 25th, and we shall be sent to train for 
flying somewhere in the States, probably Texas. 

[19] 



R. F. C, Cadet Wing, South Residence, 
University of Toronto, Canada, August 28. 
Dear Mother, — 

It is not harder here in the way of discipline as you said 
you feared it might be, for while they are more strict in the 
essentials and give heavier penalties for mistakes, etc., they 
treat the men in the R. F. C. exceptionally well. While still 
cadets we wear the officer's uniform, except for certain in- 
signia on the shoulder strap and the belt; and, being consid- 
ered as material for officers, we are supposed to be men and 
gentlemen and so do not have all the petty and aggravating 
rules and restrictions of privates in infantry. And the 
whole corps is the pride and pet of the army from top to 
bottom so they are given the best of everything. . . . 

I make it a practice to think only in the present, getting 
what little I can out of it and taking whatever is handed out, 
without comment or question, and doing it in a sort of me- 
chanical way. That is what they try to give you by disci- 
pline, so that when you are told to do something which you 
could never in the world do, ordinarily, you won't think 
anything about it and will have done it before you realize it. 
Most of the things that one thinks offhand are impossible are 
perfectly possible if one will just go ahead and make the 
effort that is necessary. . . . 

Must stop now and write up some of my notes. Load of 
love to you. 

South Residence, University of Toronto, 
September 4, 1917. 
Dear Father, — 

We have a new commanding officer at the head of the 
school now, and, as always occurs when a new head comes in, 
there is a general and severe bracing up of all the depart- 
ments. The last flight came through the course with a dis- 
graceful record of 70% failure. Up here they make you 
take a course over again if you fail the first time. Conse- 
quently, we who come after have to suff'er for it. They have 
cut down the time to be in barracks from 10.30 to 9.30 and 
actually prevent any going out week-day nights by holding 
a compulsory study hour from 7.30 to 9. As a result the 

[20] 



fellows are chafing under the restraint. Unfortunately, they 
go about expressing their displeasure the wrong way, by 
doing all they can to make it hard for the non-coms. . . . 

Inhibition is a great power in these times. It takes prac- 
tice and strength, but it becomes easier with time, and it is 
the only way to keep going, and one has to keep going. To 
get up in the morning sooner than you want to ; to go through 
a long day doing one thing after another that you don't want 
to do, trying to do it well, all for an end you hate the thought 
of; to be ordered about by nincompoops whom only the real- 
ization that they are beneath resentment restrains you from 
kicking; to be punished for things you haven't done, — all 
this is bound to have some effect and in the end is going to 
have a good effect. Some fellows feel superior to an officer 
over them; but if a fellow is really superior, his superiority 
can stand the strain of dirty work and not be tarnished. 

It is very easy in a short time knocking around with a 
bunch like this to pick out the real men. They are rather 
scarce, but when this business is over, while it may be a lot 
of those few men will be " pushing up the daisies," there 
will be a great many reborn out of a former shell. The 
great trouble with the men in the R. F. C. is that they haven't 
any sense of esprit de corps and the English have a great 
deal, because tradition of any sort means so much to them. 
Now the R. F. C. is the highest ranking regiment in all the 
English army, higher than all the old guard of hundreds of 
years' history, and it has existed only five years, but the 
best Canadians have all gone over before this and Ameri- 
cans, fellows of all sorts and characters, coming up here 
don't know the meaning of esprit de corps. It holds none 
for them. But after a while they will catch the spirit of the 
corps and take a real pride in their uniform which is dis- 
tinct from any other in the army. . . . 

Toronto, September 11. 
Dearest Mother, — 

Your letter of the eighth came to-night and it was great to 
hear from you and all the news from home. Some time has 
elapsed since I last wrote, but I have had a good reason. 
Just about a week ago the 0. C. announced that the course 
from now on would be lengthened to six weeks, making the 

[21] 



total including the Long Branch training, two months. And 
it meant we wouldn't get out of here till about the second 
week in October. Of course I am anxious to get to the real 
flying, so I wrote a letter to the chief instructor stating the 
work I had done and requesting that I be allowed to take my 
exams with the course ahead of ours, who took them yester- 
day and to-day. It was granted, so I had to begin and work 
under forced draft to get my notebook finished and the 
ground covered and reviewed. I have taken the exams and 
think that I passed all. But I cannot be sure, because some 
of them were rather tricky. I will hear definitely in three 
or four days. It will be fine if I did. ... I will have a 
good start on the other fellows, and afterward, a vacation 
will be more satisfactory, for I shall have accomplished some 
real flying. Then I will be able to tell you all about it, and 
when people ask me, " Have you been up yet? " I can an- 
swer nonchalantly that I have, with a true English air of 
boredom! There are some very amusing bored Englishmen 
among our instructors and officers. 

We were all put on C. B. (confined to barracks) last week 
till they found out who the fellows were who had roughed 
up one of the non-coms, one night. Of course it was grat- 
ing on the fellows who had nothing to do with it to have to 
stay in barracks on Saturday and Sunday, so about thirty 
just walked out. As a result several of them were dishon- 
orably discharged, and the remainder were sent back to Long 
Branch for four weeks. I certainly was glad that I stuck 
to the rules. In army life there are lots of rules in every 
direction that you turn, but I realize the truth of something 
Dr. Bradford said many years ago, that the freest man was 
the one who obeyed the laws most strictly. A lot of fellows 
here use up a great amount of time devising methods to get 
round the rules which, if they obeyed, would give them more 
time to do what they want, and invariably in the end they 
get caught up for it. Whereas the man who makes a habit 
of obeying the rules soon forgets that there are any and is 
not conscious of any restraint. You see I am becoming dis- 
ciplined a little, and I hope in the right way; not the Ger- 
man method of crushing the spirit of resistance, but the 
Anglo-Saxon way of making the individuals discipline them- 
selves for the good of all. 

[22] 



You know that expression " carry on " is used by officers 
•when they come into a room, when of course every one 
has to stop whatever he is doing and spring to attention. 
You hear them say that and " as you were " more than any- 
thing else. 

I am feeling in perfect health, as the food is excellent 
here and the hours regular, and of course with a healthy 
body I cannot help feeling fine mentally. 

Lots of love for you. 



Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun. 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 15. 
Dear Mother, — 

Well, I got by, and have been shipped out here about 140 
miles from Toronto. Less than half of the Course, with 
whom we three Course Twelve fellows took our exams, 
passed. So it is very gratifying to have done so, as it means 
several weeks' gain. 

This camp certainly is fine. Here we are more like offi- 
cers than heretofore, we have an extra fine mess, com- 
fortable quarters, and in every way the atmosphere is differ- 
ent. This is just a line to let you know how I came out and 
my present address. I will write you more when I have been 
up, which will be on the first good day. 



Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 15, 1917. 
Dear Father, — 

. . . Deseronto is a little country town on the north bank 
of the St. Lawrence about half way between Toronto and 
Montreal. It is quite a pretty country and there is a fine level 
aerodrome to work on. The quarters are very comfortable. 
There is quite a difference in the attitude here. We seem 
to be one step further toward being officers and not such 
low-down privates as we were at Toronto. 

Well, this is the beginning of another step in the progres- 
sion. The first was at Long Branch where we were supposed 
to get discipline. The next at the Elementary Training 
Wing, and last at the Higher Training Wing. 

[23] 



To-morrow I go up for my " joy " ride. It certainly will 
be interesting, and just as soon as I show the ability, I will 
do the solo work, which I have to do for ten hours. If the 
weather is good some fellows get in their ten hours in a 
week. So in all I might not be away more than three or four 
months. It certainly is gratifying to have passed out of the 
school ahead of time. 

Now comes the real thing, and it will be much more fun. 
I will write soon and tell you how I take to the air and what 
it is like. 



[24] 



THE FIRST FLYING 

Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 18, 1917. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

Smashes are of hourly occurrence on the aerodrome, 
but they all occur either in landing or getting off, so there is 
no fall, and the men get out without a scratch every time. 
Yesterday the fellow in the next bunk to mine went right over 
upside down and crawled out from underneath with nothing 
more than a bump on his nose! The machine was taken in 
and before night it was out and being used again. It is re- 
markable the way they can be banged round and stand it. 
Every time a fellow crashes, he has so much more confidence; 
for he sees that he cannot be hurt. You see, you have a belt 
to hold you in and so cannot be thrown out and break your 
neck. The best flyer is seldom the one who has never had 
a crash. Machines alight in very peculiar positions, and I 
expect to be able to get some very interesting pictures to 
show you when I come home. The closer I get to flying the 
less I am afraid of it, for you see it is a matter of science 
and common sense and not some mysterious power. And 
the dubs that get away with it are in themselves sufficient to 
remove all trepidation. 

When called for early morning flying, as I was this morn- 
ing, you get up at 4.30 and have to be down at the hangars 
at 5.30, after getting some coffee and sandwiches. This 
morning I had my " joy " ride. That is what they call the 
first ride. I sat in the front seat and was taken up about 
a thousand feet and after a few minutes brought back to the 
aerodrome. The getting off is the most exciting part, as the 
speed seems great, and any moment the machine seems as if 
it might take a notion to tip over on its nose. But soon the 
bumps grow less and after a hundred yards or less they 
cease entirely and you are clear of the ground. 

Then the ground slips rapidly away beneath you and the 
sense of speed is lost. I never saw anything more beautiful 
than the country this morning from up there. You could see 
for miles, and everything stood out distinct, but absolutely 
flat. The fields were laid out like a pattern in soft plush, 
varying from the golden yellow of the ripe grain fields to 

[25] 



green of grass and brown of plowed land. When gliding 
back to earth the gliding angle seems very steep, but not 
enough to trouble your stomach. As you approach closer 
to the ground, you are conscious once more of the speed. 
Soon you are skimming over it only a few feet above, and 
gradually settle down with a few bumps and come to a stop. 

To-morrow I go up again "dual," but am given the con- 
trols and fly in a straight line. The next day I take a slight 
curve, increasing it from day to day till the instructor feels 
certain that I am capable of handling the machine alone. 
Then I go up " solo " and can do mostly as I please. If I 
have good luck and too many of the machines are not 
smashed, I should be " soloing " by the end of the week. 

Lots of love to all. 

Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 20. 
Dear Father, — 

I have had about an hour in the air now and I no longer 
feel any nervousness or confusion as at first. This forenoon 
I went up with the instructor for thirty-five minutes and took 
all the controls after we had got up a couple of thousand 
feet and ran the machine straight and round some curves, and 
when we came down he said that I did very well indeed for 
the first time at the controls. The previous times I have just 
ridden with my hands on the controls lightly to get the feel 
of it. I think I shall get onto it quite quickly and by the first 
of next week be " soloing," if we have good luck and no more 
of the machines are smashed. Each flight has five machines, 
but we only have two in commission at present. But they get 
them fixed up very quickly, and a lot of fellows are finishing 
up, so we will get in a lot of instruction, as there are only two 
of us in my flight that are not " soloing." 

Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 21, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

Just a line before going to bed to let you know that I 
am getting along well. I have now had 150 minutes and can 
handle the machine with great confidence in the air. The 
instructor is going to start me on landings to-morrow. They 
are really the only difficult thing to get onto in flying and 

[26] 



they are soon mastered. I think the end of next week will 
see me about finished here. Then we go to Camp Borden 
till it is time to go to Texas. 

To-day was one of those perfect late September days. 
We went up about 3 this afternoon till we got an elevation of 
slightly less than five thousand feet. You could see miles 
and miles in every direction. From any altitude above a 
thousand you no longer see any contours. The country looks 
like a vast circular flat, slightly concave, the circle of the 
horizon being highest. That is what you guide by in keep- 
ing the machine level. Looking below I steered by the roads, 
which looked like very thin white ribbons. I discovered 
that the water which I thought was the St. Lawrence was only 
a long inlet on Lake Ontario. The trees, which are rapidly 
becoming colored with the autumn tints look like small 
round spots of color flat on the ground. When the air is clear 
this way it is usually bumpy; that is, there are numerous up- 
and-down currents as well as horizontal ones caused by the 
air rising or falling over spots on the ground which absorb 
more heat than others and so heat up the air above them. 
These bumps give a delightful irregularity to the flight. 
When it is calm, straight flying becomes boring, but bumps 
make you keep awake. You sail along smoothly and all of 
a sudden the machine drops away like an elevator going 
down, and you reach up to get your stomach which feels as if 
you had left it several feet above! Then you hit an up-cur- 
rent and the machine comes up and spanks you a good one, 
and you rise up anywhere from ten to fifty feet; then all is 
smooth as before. Those bumps do not cause any tendency 
to seasickness, but on the contrary are very exhilarating. 

The air is cold and very bracing, and when you come down, 
you feel as if you had taken a tonic. Coming down after 
being up at an even altitude for some time seems somewhat 
as if you were stepping off" a plateau like the floating island 
that Swift tells about in Gulliver s Travels. The first time I 
took a glide my stomach came up in my throat with a thump, 
for the gliding angle is pretty steep, but now it seems like 
the best part. 

There was a collision in the air to-day, but it was only 
about fifty feet from the ground and as usual no one was 
even scratched. Yesterday a machine was smashed in a 

[27] 



landing so that there seemed to be little left of it but the 
engine, and this morning when we came down it was rolled 
out ready to fly. They certainly do things quickly and effi- 
ciently here. I am telling you about the smashes which occur 
because they are so frequent and so harmless that I want you 
to see how little real danger there is in the training. Our 
emblem is a cat painted on the side of the machine — nine 
lives. After each smash they put a white dot on its tail. 
Some of the cats have five and six dots, and the machine is as 
good as new. They take great pains to see that it is as good 
as new and will tear down a whole machine and reassemble 
it for the slightest doubt; there is no such thing as flying 
unsafe and condemned machines here. 

Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
Deseronto, Ontario, September 23, 1917. 

Dearest Mother, — 

. . . We had to get up this morning as usual, though it is 
Sunday. It was still dark with the stars shining when I went 
over to get my coffee and sandwiches, and I was in the air 
before the sun came up. After the war, machines will be 
very cheap because of the big production which the war is 
causing, so I will have one and take you up some early morn- 
ing to see the wonder of a sunrise above the clouds. It is 
indescribable. I had not thought when choosing this branch 
that besides the cleanliness and other attractive features there 
was such marvelous beauty connected with it. Even war 
cannot look horrible from up there. And there is such a 
wonderful feeling of exultation over the universe ; to fly along 
at a high elevation where there are no bumps, the machine 
seemingly suspended by an invisible thread which gently 
gives and sways as you pass through diff"erent currents of 
air; driving a machine which responds like a muscle of your 
own body to the slightest thought of the brain. "What is 
that town like over there to the left? " — already before you 
have scarcely seen it the machine has turned and is going 
closer. "What is that queer-looking object below?" — at 
once the engine is shut off and you are gliding down like a 
bolt one, two, three thousand feet till you can make it out. 
"I wonder how it is up there above that cloud?" — up the 

[28] 



machine goes steadily climbing like a willing slave to exe- 
cute your every whim. 

You and all the family are going to ride with me after 
the war, for after the first time you will not have a moment's 
nervousness. It seems twice as secure and just as natural 
as sitting in a car. . . . 

Camp Borden, Ontario, October 5, 1917. 
Dearest Mother, — 

The weather has been very unsettled since coming here, 
so flying has been in bunches. I have only made about eight 
flights, totaling six hours, so I am afraid I won't be able to 
make the next gunnery course. However, it doesn't matter 
a great deal, for I can go along slowly and it won't be long 
after I get to England before I finish. I should like to have 
received my commission before going over, but it makes no 
diff'erence in the end. 

Every day I wish you could look in on the aerodrome, 
because it would remove your nervousness. The more you 
learn about flying and the more familiar you become with 
it, the more understandable and reasonable it seems. For 
example, what I am working on now is "vertical banks." 
That is, taking a comer so sharp that you turn your wings 
up sideways, vertical to the ground. To watch from the 
ground, it seems as if the machine must sideslip down like 
a bullet, and yet the centrifugal force of the turn holds it 
as securely in place in the air as if the air were a solid sub- 
stance like a banked-up comer on a race-track. 

Also, I am working on spiral glides. Heretofore, when 
about to land, I would get way off so that I could glide in a 
straight line down. Now I can be right over a field I wish 
to land on and spiral down from any altitude on to it. This 
is a valuable acquisition, because in case of engine failure I 
can be more sure of landing where I want to. These things 
aren't stunts at all — they are merely elementals, and even 
the stunts aren't really stunts, for there is a definite place 
to put your controls, a definite way to change them, and when 
you place them so, the machine will go through the move- 
ments desired. . . . 

Yesterday, two machines collided 600 feet above ground 
— one only had its propeller broken, and glided down easily 

[29] 



on the aerodrome. The other was completely cut in half 
and fell down straight, nose first, and half buried itself in 
the ground; but before landing it crashed into a tree. The 
pilot was thrown out and had his fall broken, so that he got 
up, dusted off his clothes and strolled back to the aerodrome 
literally without a scratch. To-day, as is the case every day, 
there were four crashes, all outside the aerodrome, and not 
a soul hurt. Yet one of the mechanics, cranking a propeller, 
had his leg broken when the engine kicked back. So flying 
is safer than cranking, you see. 

To-day I got in a couple of hours of formation flying. We 
start out six machines and climb up to a stated altitude over 
a certain rendezvous point; then form up in a V, like a flock of 
wild geese. It is harder than flying alone, for you have to 
keep the formation on turns. This means the outside ma- 
chines have to nose down a bit to get additional speed and 
the inside machines throttle down and nose up. It is very 
good practice; now all work at the front — reconnaissance, 
flights, bombing raids, fighting — is done in squadron for- 
mation. . . . This is to prevent one machine as heretofore 
from falling in with a lot of Hun machines and being sur- 
rounded and brought down. Now it is a court-martial offence 
to cross the line alone, except for certain individuals like 
Major Bishop, who has brought down about forty. . . . 

This evening the clouds were remarkably low — 500 feet 
— and several of the machines got lost in different parts of 
the country round about. They came down on some field and 
telephoned in that they would come back in the morning. 

I was up before lunch and got caught in a very heavy rain- 
shower. Had no wind-shield on the machine I was driving, 
and the big drops of rain hitting my face at 60 miles an hour 
stung like bees. When I got in, the edge of the hard oak 
propeller was rasped, as if a big rough file had been rubbed 
over it; but when you consider the propeller tip is traveling 
round 600 feet per second, it isn't surprising. They put a 
new one on, for the slightest blemish destroys the balance, 
which must be perfect, since revolving at such a high speed, 
it would gradually vibrate till it broke itself up. The aero- 
planes are truly wonderfully made things, — like a Swiss 
watch, and when you see the way they get banged around, it 
shows the remarkable workmanship that is put into them. 

[30] 



This letter is mostly all " shop," but there is little else to 
talk about. I am learning more and gaining confidence by 
large doses every day. I don't even tighten up when mak- 
ing landings now, and with high winds, gusty and all, I cer- 
tainly have had some bumpy rides. 

Deep love. 

Camp Borden, October 6, 1917. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

The weather remains unsettled, — windy and bitterly cold, 
— so we are working under difficulties. I made three flights 
this morning, of about an hour each. The clouds were low, so 
I had a lot of valuable practice going through them. They 
are veritable whirlpools of criss-cross currents. ... I 
worked in them about an hour, till I felt fairly confident. 
. . . When I came down, my machine was glazed with 
ice from the condensed vapor freezing. I never was so cold, 
in spite of two sweaters, coat and heavy lined leather overcoat. 
But a 60-mile wind below freezing-point is bound to get 
through anything. I honestly don't see how they can keep 
this place going a month longer, as they intend to, the 
days are getting so short and the weather so bad. I would 
rather have been spanked than go up again after my second 
trip, but I had to go just the same. 

Before breakfast I went up to about 5000 feet, where there 
wasn't a bump, — about 1000 feet above the clouds, — and I 
sailed along for an hour watching a glorious sunrise. The 
clouds looked so fleecy white, all billows and projections; and 
an occasional one towered up like an iceberg. It made me 
feel as if I might be standing at the North Pole on a snow- 
covered ice floe. The place seemed to have the stillness of the 
North Pole; not a sound, nothing stirring the least bit. I 
couldn't see the ground, so the illusion was complete, par- 
ticularly the cold, — there was no illusion about that. I spoke 
of the stillness, which is a fact. For the noise of the engine 
is smoothed into a sort of roar by the wind, and this roar 
being absolutely constant, you cease to notice it after a time, 
and it becomes a state; thus absolutely whispering silence is 
there in eff'ect. But let that engine miss or slow down the least 
bit, and at once you hear it, just as when you hear a clock stop 
which you have n't noticed ticking. 

[31] 



I went way up then, because I wanted to try some verti- 
cal banks, and whenever trying anything new, the higher you 
are, the safer, for it gives you more time to recover in case of 
trouble. A fellow was killed here to-day because he tried a 
stunt when only a few hundred feet over the ground ; whereas 
another fellow yesterday tried the same stunt, missed it the 
same way, and went into a nose-dive, but after 1500 feet was 
able to get out of it. A little time and space is all that is 
necessary to recover from any imaginable position. So you 
see I am very cautious, and I was n't even trying anything 
very difficult. The nearest example to a vertical bank that I 
can think of is what you may have seen at some vaudeville or 
circus some time, where a man gets inside of a huge barrel- 
shaped affair made of slats and rides a bicycle round in it. 
As he gains in speed he can move farther and farther up the 
sides till he is perpendicular to them. Ordinarily you take 
an easy bank or something less than 45. But when you bank 
steeper, you have to use your elevator as rudder and rudder 
as elevator. The transition came more naturally than I ex- 
pected it would. But the way that nose swept round tlie hori- 
zon was a caution. You know, sighting along the top of the 
engine-cover to the radiator, you always keep your level by 
the horizon line. That is why when in a cloud you no longer 
can be sure she is longitudinally level. You can always see 
a lateral change in the machine itself. 

I tried several vertical banks on each side till I was sure 
1 had the idea. Now I have three things I did n't have when 
I came up, all of the utmost value: the spiral glide, which 
makes a safe landing possible in case of engine failure; con- 
fidence in clouds, which often have to be traversed ; and a ver- 
tical bank, of great value in avoiding a collision. . . . That 
vertical bank will turn you about in a circle that must be 
no greater than 100 feet in diameter; and when you con- 
sider that you are traveling in one direction over 60 miles 
an hour, and turn about and go in the opposite direction in 
that small radius, it is some turning. ... It took me quite 
a while to start the first vertical bank, for, unlike making 
the first landing, you didn't have to make this. Something 
kept urging, "Oh, go in; wait till another time; no one will 
ever know the difference." And then, "Well, you have got 
to do it some time or go down and be a mechanic." So do it 

[32] 



I did, and the doing was many times easier than the deter- 
mining. And each thing I do will make it easier to do the 
next, like a habit; also each accomplishment gives such a 
gain in confidence. 



Camp Borden, Ontario, October 8, 1917. 

Dear Father and Mother, — 

In spite of the weather I am progressing steadily, and, as 
I wrote Beth yesterday, expect, with good luck, to be coming 
home inside of three weeks for my final leave before going 
overseas. 

I heard a little inside dope to-day that first we go to Scot- 
land for the aerial gunnery course which I won't get here. 
That takes about three weeks, then we are sent to France to 
an aerodrome where we learn to fly the actual machines used, 
which, while controlled similarly, are a bit diff"erent in actual 
flying because of their high speed. After that, we return to 
England for final training, where we pass certain tests and 
do a bit of instructing; then we are sent to the front as we 
are needed. So you see the preliminary trip to France will 
make an easy breaking in for the final trip, and if I can con- 
tinue to do the work, whatever it is, not exceptionally, but 
creditably, it will be sufficient satisfaction to you as well as 
myself; and if anything happens to me, it wouldn't matter. 
It is n't when, but how. A good " how " can go a long way to- 
ward making up for a "when" for all concerned, and of 
course this is looking at the extreme, which need not occur 
necessarily. 

There is so much to do each day that it gives one a gratify- 
ing sense of progressing constantly. There are five so-called 
ground tests having to do with wireless and miniature artil- 
lery observation. I have been taking mine at odd moments 
when weather was bad for flying, and to-day passed the last 
two off^ somewhat ahead of those who came in the same day 
with me; also to-day took my first though easiest flying test — 
the altitude test. That is to climb up 8000 feet and glide 
all the way down in one stretch with the engine shut off^, and 
at last touch in a circle 100 feet in diameter on landing. I 
started out for an hour's formation flying, but they took so 
long to get the engine started that the formation had gone, 

[33] 



so I went up to stow away some time. After a while I no- 
ticed the clouds were much more broken up, so I decided I 
might as well practice the altitude test and climbed up. It 
was terribly cold up there; then I shut off and came down 
the mile and two-thirds in about five minutes. It was a de- 
cided strain on the ears, for ordinarily you level out for a 
while every few thousand feet to let them become adjusted, 
but in this test you can't put the engine on at all. I came 
down and not only touched the circle, but stopped dead right 
in the middle of it, so I taxied in and reported to the officer 
in charge and he gave me credit for it. The wind was very 
high to-day — at times 40 miles an hour — and I am getting 
so I can handle the machine with perfect assurance in all 
kinds of weather conditions. 

The next test is to go up 13,000 feet and make two eights 
between two points and spiral down as before with engine 
off and stop in the circle. This must be done twice. The 
glide is easy, for my ears are used to small continuous glides 
like that. The only hard part is to stop in the circle. It 
takes a lot of practice and judgment, for you have to con- 
sider the strength of the wind and you are apt either to come 
short or roll through and beyond. In an ordinary landing 
on the aerodrome if you have n't enough height to reach the 
field on a glide, you can give her the gun and level off for a 
while. But this is not merely landing on the field, but com- 
ing to a stop in what is practically a pretty small point. It is 
a valuable accomplishment, for in case of a forced landing 
on a small field, you can make sure of doing it all right. 
After a cross-country flight to Toronto, which is very easy, 
and a total of thirty-five hours, — I now have twenty-two, — I 
am transferred to the Wireless Squadron, where I carry out 
an actual artillery observation, reading the ground signals — 
strips of white cloth and certain figures meaning code mes- 
sages. I wireless down my observation of the shell-bursts; 
also I do some photographing of certain specified points. 
That is hard, for you have to sight the camera and fly the 
machine at the same time, but I notice already that I fly it 
a great deal by feeling. 



[34] 



Camp Borden, Ontario, October 10, 1917. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

To-day I got off the second flying test after a couple of 
tries, so now all I have is about two hours' more formation 
flying and a cross-country, but I shall delay them until the 
end of the week if I can stall off, for I want to soak away 
a lot of time to my credit. As soon as you have done them, 
they transfer you to the Wireless Squadron where you don't 
get much time in, and the closer to fifty hours I have here, 
the sooner I will get my commission on the other side. I 
have now about twenty-six. 

This is really the first pleasant day we have had since I 
came up here. It wasn't so raw and cold, and much less 
wind, though it changed about constantly in direction, so 
that once I nearly had a crash, for coming down the way I 
took off into the wind; I saw by the excessive speed as I 
came close to the ground that I was going right with the 
wind, but I gave her the gun before it was too late and 
came down again in the opposite direction. 

One of the fellows I like best up here — a fellow from 
Elizabeth — was trying the same test as I. He glided down, 
but as he came close to the ground saw that he wasn't going 
to even reach the aerodrome, so he gave her the gun, but 
the engine would n't pick up. It just coughed and sputtered, 
so he had to keep on coming down and crashed into a tree. 
The machine was a total wreck, but he got out with only a 
gashed lip, and jolt. You see, the safety belt holds you 
in the machine so when it crashes you can't be thrown out 
and hurt, and the crumpling up serves to check the fall, and, 
being back of the planes of engine, you aren't likely to 
be hurt at all, except for a bump on the nose from the 
cowling. Now you are worrying, saying, Suppose your en- 
gine had n't picked up ; but if it had n't I was right over the 
aerodrome, so it would not have mattered. I always fly 
within gliding distance of the aerodrome, because these en- 
gines are used so constantly they are none too reliable; but 
if you are up a mile, that means you can be 5 or 6 miles away 
and have a safe margin for gliding in, and a circle with a 
10-mile diameter means a 30-mile circuit, so it leaves quite 
sufficient area for flying around. 

There was a half-inch of ice in puddles this morning, after 

[35] 



a clear, cold night. I was just thinking to-day how very 
civilized the world had become in spite of the fact that war 
still exists. All my life I have taken mattresses, hot water, 
sheets, pillows, etc., as such absolutely matter-of-course 
things; and now sleeping in blankets out in the cold, with no 
sheets, mattress or pillow, shaving in cold water, — it really 
is n't so bad after all, but it does make you realize what civil- 
ization has done for physical comfort and convenience by 
supplying the things which are not at all necessary to exist- 
ence, but do add a tremendous amount of comfort. 

I am looking forward immensely to my leave spent in a 
warm house with all its accessories. It won't be long now, I 
am pretty sure — less than three weeks. With a heart full 
of love, 

Camp Borden, October 14, 1917. 
Dearest Mother^ — 

Now, I want to tell you something which I have n't up to 
this time, because I wanted to save you needless anxiety. It 
can't make you anxious now, for I have completed it, and 
shall do no more stunts. I did not expect to do any when I 
first came here, but finally decided I must, for I was afraid 
to. The fellow who had done them seemed to have no more 
to him than I have, and I am determined to be as good as any 
and better than most, for only so can I expect much chance of 
coming back. The dubs and boneheads get picked off quickly, 
and likewise those who lack the nerve to do something and 
hesitate an instant too late in an emergency. So you see I 
had to get rid of every atom of fear and gain this quality 
which a few others seemed to have. It isn't daredeviltry or 
rashness; before going up I had the mechanic look at the 
machine and give it a thorough inspection so that I could 
be sure it would not give way. Then I talked with the offi- 
cer and found out exactly what to do. First I tried a loop, 
and that is the easiest of all stunts, requiring a simple gain 
in speed by nosing down slightly and then pulling straight 
up until she gets up over. It is a wonderful sensation to feel 
the machine rise up and up on its graceful curve as if some 
giant hand were tossing it ; then the swoop down and out onto 
the level. I tried several until I lost all sense of confusion 
and was perfectly aware where I was in any position. It is 
ten times easier to do than the vertical bank, for that re- 

[36] 



quires a reversal of the controls and use of all three. In 
the loop there is only one simple straight back, the other 
two being neutral. Next time I went up I tried a stall and 
tail-slide. That is much the same as a loop, only having 
less speed. You merely go up until the machine is vertical 
up and down. There you lose headway, shutting off the en- 
gine, and slide tail-first for the ground. And as you begin 
to move, the air gets under the tail and begins to lift it. The 
weight of the engine drops the nose and you come out in a 
simple glide. It is easier even than the loop. I did it sec- 
ond because the sensation was rather strong. 

Then we had a couple of bad days until to-day. Mean- 
while, I was figuring. I asked myself. What is the worst pos- 
sible sensation I can get. I decided it would be the tail-slide 
upside down, so I worked out a way that I could do it. Start- 
ing out at a simple stall, I went slightly past top vertical; 
then pushed the elevator clear forward, which allowed the 
air when dropping to hit the top side of the tail instead of 
the bottom as in the ordinary tail-slide. This got the desired 
motion — tail-sliding upside down; but very quickly the tail 
was lifted further, the engine dropping, and the machine 
completed the backward somersault, coming out as usual in 
the simple nose-down glide, when I pulled up level. Next 
I tried the so-called Immelman turn, where you nose up 
nearly vertical, slide down sideways and pull up out of the 
nose-glide, going in the opposite direction. It is a turn in- 
vented by Immelman and is the shortest possible way of 
going in the opposite direction, — far quicker than a vertical 
bank turn and a most effective manoeuvre for an aerial 
fighter. Having done now all possible stunts that the Curtis 
machine is capable of and in addition invented a stunt of my 
own, I started in and just threw the machine around this 
way and that, letting it fall sideways, backwards, every way, 
chucking the controls this way, criss-crossing them, letting 
them go entirely; always the weight of the engine would 
swing her down and straighten out in a simple nose-glide, 
from which it is easy to pull out level. Now I feel that I 
have banished every single atom of fear of this new ele- 
ment, air. I feel quite gratified that I have done so, for now 
no matter what happens I can't feel afraid and get rattled. 
Many fellows have been killed by being thrown accidentally 

[37] 



in a bad position and getting scared and rattled. I can't be 
killed in flying now. You see, when I get to fighting, not hav- 
ing to think of my machine, I can concentrate every attention 
on the fighting and so bring down an adversary. 

There are only a dozen out of the whole camp, exclusive 
of officers, who have done even the simplest stunts, and my 
rather novel stunt has caused quite a little interest, which is 
of course fun for me. Of course it has often been done 
before in diff^erent machines, but it is a new one for this 
camp. 

Now I have accomplished my purpose, I shall do no more 
until we get over to the other side where the machines are 
built and adapted for such things. 

Ever so much love. 

Camp Borden, October 15. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

. . . It seems quite definite now that we go to Texas for 
the aerial gunnery course which takes three weeks. Probably 
on account of the transfer it will consume nearer four, but 
after it I will receive my commission and have it before 
going over, so this leave which I hope I can get in about the 
last five or six days of the month will not be a final one. 
For that reason I would rather not have you plan any festivi- 
ties at this time, but let them come in the final leave a few 
weeks later when I have the shoulder-straps, stars and 
wings. That will be something worth while celebrating, for, 
believe me, that is a commission earned, if anything is. Let 
this present leave be a nice pleasant family visit. Of course 
I will enjoy a theatre and a concert or two particularly. I 
have missed music like a food, for I got such a great deal 
of it last year after I left college that I felt a decided gap. 

When I was finally able to secure a machine this morning, 
I stayed up two hours, which is a safe margiry on the 
gasoline supply, in order to get in all the time I could while 
I had a machine. The wind was pretty strong when I left the 
ground, and it increased until it finally equalled the speed 
of the machine — over 60 miles per hour; and flying into 
it I stayed stationary over the same point on the ground, so to 
divert myself I nosed up and climbed to 11,000 feet, which 
is slightly over two miles. It seemed about the same there 

[38] 



as at a mile, except objects were somewhat smaller. I in- 
tended seeing how high the bus would climb, but I got so 
cold I could n't stand it any longer, so glided down to about 
3000 feet. There the wind was very dusty, and clouds a 
short distance above inclined to make it bumpier than I have 
ever experienced it so far, and yet I am so used to flying now 
that I can do it entirely by feeling and no longer have to 
think about it. So I flew for nearly an hour, looking down 
on the ground and thinking about home and after the war. 
That is a welcome improvement, for I used to get very bored 
doing nothing for two hours but sit there and concentrate 
on the machine. Finally the two hours were up, and I 
circled over the aerodrome and noticed there was another 
machine on it and looking around could not see one in 
the air where usually you could see at least twenty or 
thirty. So I realized the wind must be even stronger than 
I thought and decided I had better get down. I nosed down 
very steeply, the engine partly on, and when I touched the 
ground the machine did n't roll more than 20 feet. If it were 
not for the trees I could easily have landed on our little back 
terrace at " Irvingcroft." 

There were a lot of mechanics out all over the aerodrome, 
who grabbed the machine, but the minute I turned sideways, 
the wind nearly turned me up on one wing. Two or three 
fellows had crashed coming in shortly before me, so I was 
very pleased to foil all their expectations and get away 
with it all right, but flying was washed out for the rest of 
the day, and yet to-day was the most perfect we have had, not 
considering flying value. 

I fear this letter is rather verbose, yet I couldn't experi- 
ence such a day without being aff^ected by it and trying to 
give you as much a share of it as my powers of expression 
would permit. If you can really picture it rather than just 
realize it is something you missed and so envy me for it, I 
shall feel very happy; but I am determined that you shall 
experience it at first hand some time. 



[39] 



AMONG THE CLOUDS 

Camp Borden, October 16, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

This afternoon the sky was full of those great broken 
masses of thick puffy white clouds with sky appearing so 
clear and deep blue between them. I climbed up between 
some until I was on top a thousand feet, then I flew along 
for an hour or more with the wheels just touching their upper 
surface. I could almost imagine they were turning. It 
seemed like riding in a mythical chariot of the gods, racing^ 
along this vast infinitely white field stretching off endlessly 
in every direction. The clear open sky above veritably is 
heaven as we imagined it in childhood. Occasionally I 
would pass over an opening so I could look down and get my 
location direction, but except for these occasional breaks the 
world was completely shut out. The celestial illusion was 
perfect, and it was hard to come away from it — really quite 
a tug. Then came the glide down — a wonderful sensation 
to pass through the air with engine shut off so that you really 
seemed to be floating, or rather swimming like a fish in 
water, making great sweeping spiral curves. . . . Some- 
times I would drop and tear through the air like a meteor 
at 150 miles an hour, with the wires shrieking with the wind, 
then nose up again and slow down. Oh! I wish so much 
you could have been with me on that ride, for you would have 
enjoyed it. It was so beautiful, and to get away above the 
world that way — outside of it in a heaven of absolutely un- 
marred beauty! . . . You seem to expand with it — where 
there is no measure there are no bonds. . . . 

I went up again just before sunset and remained until the 
sun had gone down. I flew toward the sunset until I was 
actually in those frail mists of vapor which assume such ex- 
quisite colors. When seen from the ground they seem to be 
color painted on the plane surface of the sky. Up there the 
different strata of color and irregular bits of cloud seem to 
stand out in relief like the figures in a picture seen through 
a stereoscope. Flying close to one of these wisps so intangi- 
ble in substance and yet so clothed in color, I felt the im- 
pulse to put out my hand and touch it, touch and feel color 
in its substanceless essence. Tenderest love. 

[40] 



Camp Borden, October 19, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

We are living out in tents now — the barracks are reserved 
for the present aerial gunnery fellows. It certainly 
is disagreeable out here most of the time — the weather is 
below freezing-point, and so damp! 

I am in such good health I can't take cold, but it is no fun. 
It rained all last night, and my tent was leaking in a dozen dif- 
ferent places. It certainly is good for one, if unpleasant, 
to get out of bed at 5 in the morning while it is still pitch 
black, and dress, put on shoes stiff with cold with fingers 
that ache like teeth, stumble down to the hangars and go up 
in the air, a 60-mile gale blowing, below freezing, and stick 
it out for two hours at a stretch. I never have been so cold 
so consistently and so continually before. For while you can 
bundle up, your clothes are icy when you put them on, and in 
the air your feet soon get absolutely numb. Sometimes when 
I come dowTi I cannot walk. . . . 

Yesterday I was sent up to read some ground signs. That 
is a shutter arrangement which is open and shut revealing 
white, and done in the time of dots and dashes of the regular 
telegraphic code. You fly over it and read the message. 
This is the work of the next squadron, but I was able to get 
permission to do it ahead of time. You have to get fifteen 
words in all. I got ten the first trip, which is doing well; 
but the wind was in my favor, for by throttling down till the 
machine just had flying speed to support it, I could stay di- 
rectly over the same spot the whole time and never once 
had to look at the machine, keeping my eyes constantly 
on the ground, for I can drive entirely by feeling now with- 
out any thought of the machine. I would get a word, then 
write it down on the tablet on my knee, and look down again 
for the next one; so I have these ten to my credit and only 
need to get five more. 

I was able to get a very good idea of fighting the other 
day. When we get into the aerial gunnery course, they send 
up two machines and one has a camera instead of a gun, with 
regular gun sights. They manoeuvre about — the one trying 
to avoid the other, who pulls the trigger and takes the pic- 
ture when he has him in line. Two of us were sent up in or- 
dinary machines to get some preliminary practice in manoeu- 

[41] 



vring. The 0. C. said go up and fly around on each other's 
tails, but keep a couple of hundred yards apart. The other 
fellow was a good flyer, so we mixed it up, sailing and dart- 
ing around, dodging and diving, often passing within fifty 
feet. There was no danger of our colliding, however, for 
we had very definite signals. . . . We battled for about 
an hour in such a realistic manner that from the ground we 
had them all holding their breath; at a distance you cannot 
see the actual distance between the machines. When we 
came down the 0. C. said, "That was very good." My ma- 
chine was about five miles an hour faster and yet this slight 
advantage enabled me to fly circles around the other. I 
could shake him off my tail any time I pleased and keep him 
constantly in bead of my supposed gun, and that is what 
fighting depends largely on. 



Camp Borden, October 23, 1917. 
Dearest Mother, — 

... I have felt when I was above there with the world 
shut out that I might meet Carol, for it does not seem as though 
I were in this life at all. The beauty and unreality and the 
absolute aloneness are so totally diff"erent from any known 
experience in all the world's history that you cannot feel 
yourself. It seems as if it was just your spirit. The gro- 
tesque fanciful shapes of cloud projections as you wind in 
and out among them are so incomparably white, the air is 
so cold and so devoid of dust and moist particles, that it 
seems as if there were no air at all. With the illusion of ab- 
solute, awful stillness, little wonder that I could feel that I 
might come upon her on the other side of the next cloud. . . . 



[42] 



THE FIGURE OF WAR 

Camp Borden, October 24, 1917. 
Mother Dear, — 

I feel no bitterness against the Huns as individuals 
or as a race. It is war that I hate, and war that I am willing to 
give all to end as permanently as possible, for it is n't the 
men that war kills, it is the mother's heart which it destroys, 
that makes it hateful to me. War personified should not be 
the figure of death on a body-strewn battlefield, as it so often 
is. It should be pictured as a loathsome male striking a 
woman from behind — a woman with arms tied, but eyes wide 
open. To kill that figure because it has struck my own mother 
— that is why I am exerting myself and all the will in my being 
to accomplish. It hurts me so to think of the ever-growing 
hopelessness that a mother has to bear. The impotency to 
do anything — just sit and wait, wait, wait. It is so immeas- 
urably harder than to go out and risk death, or meet it, as 
we can. ... To me it seems like a great final examina- 
tion in college for a degree summa vita in mortem, and it 
challenges the best in me — spurs me on to dig down for 
every last reserve of energy, strength and thought. As I 
said in my letter to Dr. Mills, — a thought suggested by Dr. 
Black, — "Death is the greatest event in life," and it is sel- 
dom that anything is made of it. What a privilege then to be 
able to meet it in a manner suitable to its greatness! Once 
in your life to have met a crisis which required the use of 
every last latent capacity! It is like being able to exercise 
a muscle which has been in a sling for a long time. So for 
me the examination is comparatively easy to pass. But for 
you the examination is so much harder and the degree con- 
ferred so much more obscure. . . . 

I found it was a great help to work with another fellow 
preparing for examinations in college, even if he knew less 
about the subject than I, for there were always things he could 
help me with, in return for something I could help him with, 
and just the fact that we were working together gave comfort 
and strength. We will buckle to it for a long "grind," and 
if I should complete my course before you, which means 
that your exam will be even longer and harder, then don't 
give up; work all the harder. I think I realize how much 

[43] 



harder it will be, but I count on you to do it. That will be 
your life's great opportunity, to live on when the weariness 
is so great everything in you cries out for " eternal leisure.'* 
If that occasion arises, you must hear in it the supreme chal- 
lenge and hold up your head and respond to it, and then 
when the time comes you will have lived a life infinitely 
more worth while than mine can be at best, because it will 
present so much larger an opportunity. It is because as a 
rule men's lives never have such an opportunity presented 
that they look to another life hereafter. But with a righteous 
struggle such as this, life would be complete. There would 
be no need for another, and if there is another, so much 
the better; but it can take care of itself and there is no need 
to bother one way or another about it. 
Deepest love and affection always. 

Royal Flying Corps, 
Camp Borden, October 26, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

It has cleared a little in the last two days for short periods 
so I have got a little more accomplished, having now only 
about two hours' more work. This afternoon I went up to 
read ground strips. Calling up a station in the usual man- 
ner, I had him put out ground strips in the shape of a letter 
and then I would send down the meaning. This is a test to 
make sure you know them all, for they are the means of 
communication used from a battery to a machine in the air. 
I passed it all right. Some fellows take a card up with them 
with the meaning all written out, but that is not much use, 
for they will have to learn them some time and it is easiest 
now. I kept hoping, even as late as yesterday, that I might 
finish in time to get at least three days' leave; but it was no 
use, so I have given up struggling against the impossible 
and am taking things as they come now. 

I have put in over fifty hours' solo flying now, so I am 
sure of my wings when I am commissioned. The wings are 
nice to have; but it is good I have been able to get so much 
time in, for every hour means that much better preparation. 
No two flights are just the same; the air conditions always 
vary, and of course each flight means a landing, which you 
can't have too much practice in. 

[44] 



I expect I can finish to-morrow or next day if the weather 
holds passable, and then I shall take a day in Toronto to get 
a few necessary things, and Tuesday we pack up to go, leav- 
ing early Wednesday. It will be quite a lot of fun, traveling 
in a big bunch together on special trains for four or five days. 
This is one more interesting trip I shall have added to the 
many during the last three years — practically every sec- 
tion of the U. S. and Canada and a trip to Europe. So many 
who have to go have never had such good fortxme. 

Deepest love. 

Royal Flying Corps, 
Camp Borden, Ontario, October 30, 1917. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

. . . Oh, I am so glad to be leaving this place! I never 
hated surroundings more, not the cold or discomfort or the 
work, which I have really enjoyed keenly, but the unutterable 
loneliness of the scene, whichever way you look. The great 
American Desert was beautiful as I crossed it two years ago; 
but this flat, scrubby desolation has been awfully hard to 
ignore day after day. Any change will be most welcome. 

I had become so used to having my feet pass from the 
stage of acute pain to numbness on every flight that I seldom 
minded it and would always stay up till a certain " stint " of 
time was ended or a test completed; for I was too anxious 
to finish to let anything interfere. Soon after coming down 
the feeling would gradually come back, but I notice finally 
that I must have frozen my feet and one hand on some trip, 
for they have been rather sore and deadened in feeling for 
about a week; not bad enough to be serious, but it shows it 
really is pretty cold up there when it is below freezing 
even on the ground. 



[45] 



TEXAS 

R. F. C, Hicks Wing, School of A. G. 
Fort Worth, Texas, November 4, 1917. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

At last we are here. We got into Fort Worth last night, 
but weren't allowed off the train till after breakfast this 
morning. This camp is just the same size as Borden, but 
looks different in every way. So far as you can see in any 
direction it is absolutely a level plain. One could land any- 
where in case of engine trouble. And the air is so calm and 
warm, not the least sign of a cloud or gusty wind, perfect for 
flying. Yet I am glad I had to learn under the difficulties 
of a small rough aerodrome and bad weather, for I am that 
much better off. . . . 

The trip down was quite a trial because of the confinement. 
It is obvious that if they let three hundred or four hundred 
boys out at every station free to roam, we wouldn't have 
many left when we got here, so whenever the train stopped 
long enough we all got out and paraded for the exercise, but 
of course it wasn't much fun. And though most of the fel- 
lows were in the tourist car, I was lucky to be with a bunch 
in a Pullman, greatly overcrowded, however. Still we had 
lots of fun, and it was interesting country that we passed 
through — all new to me from St. Louis down. 

The camp is about fourteen miles west of Fort Worth, as 
yet far from finished. They have n't any quarters or messing 
facilities for us yet, so we are camping in one of the hangars. 
But it is all such a great change and relief from Borden that 
I don't mind it in the least, and it can't delay us in our work, 
as they run that absolutely on a schedule. 

Much love to all. 

R. F. C. Hicks Wing, S. of A. G. 
Fort Worth, Texas, November 6. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

We are slowly getting a little more settled in our quarters, 
and the food is better now. They really had no provision 
at all for us the first day. We are living in a hangar, one 
hundred and fifty of us together, some music if you happen 
to wake up late at night! Water is the greatest difficulty, — it 

[46] 



is hard to get enough to wash your teeth, let alone bathing; 
but I got a midnight pass to go into the city last night and 
had a good shower and swim at the Y. M. C. A. The lights, 
like water, are not yet installed, so we are using candles. But 
the wonderful warm clear days and cool fresh nights make 
up many times over for all limitations. 

Last night we were the first R. F. C. Cadets in Fort Worth, 
and we created quite a stir, — soldiers were saluting us, and 
people stared. I was talking with one soldier and he re- 
marked in surprise, " I did n't know Canadians could speak 
English!" Another asked where we were from, and when 
I said, " Canada," he asked, " What State is that in?" 

Our work is real work in this course. Very little flying, 
and that merely with our officer as pilot while we work the 
machine-guns. But this is the work that counts, for if you 
know your gun and can handle it your chances are practically 
sure of being on the right side. There are a great many lec- 
tures and much study, so I dare say I won't be able to write 
as often for a few weeks as heretofore; but I am on the last 
lap now with the shoulder-strap at the end — and then leave 
and home. 

I'm hoping for some mail in a few days, as there is quite 
a blank during this change. 

School of A. G. 
Fort Worth, Texas, November 12. 
Dear Mother, — 

... I am taking too much pride in my clear record thus 
far to let anything break it. I have never been checked up for 
being late on parade, dirty buttons, needing shine or shave, 
as almost every one has one time or another. That is one 
reason I was picked for a corporal. There are a hundred 
and fifty cadets in this course, and fifteen corporals, so that 
puts me among the first fifteen of the bunch. That doesn't 
mean much, and yet it is significant of what I have been 
aiming at in all my work, to be better than the average, that 
is, — as in my last year at college, — not only not be in the D 
or E class, and not in the C or good-enough average class, but 
in the B and A class, better than is absolutely necessary. For 
considering the curve of mortality, it is drawn to fit the aver- 
age and indicates a certain percentage of that average that 

[47] 



must be killed. Being in above-the-average class, the curve is 
no longer true, the percentage is far less. In the average class 
say you have a fifty-fifty draw, then it is as likely to be you 
as the next fellow. In this class you reduce the element of 
chance. 

That, I believe, was one of Napoleon's plans. He made 
a plan considering all known contingencies, then in addition 
he gave it extra strength to reduce the element of chance, 
until its success could not be thrown in doubt even by some- 
thing unforeseen. So you see it is n't any virtue in one 
to be trying for a good record; it is the desire to come back 
and enjoy my life, the family, the farm, etc., that gives the 
incentive. I knew I could learn to fly all right, but I wasn't 
sure of the gunnery, for that requires a diff"erent sort of skill; 
but I find I am beginning to get considerable accuracy and 
before I finish I shall get it good. Then let the Hun do his 
worst and I will go him a point better. 

This gunnery is great fun, for we have so many different 
sorts of practice. The range work consists in plain target 
shooting, shooting at silhouettes of machines with aerial 
sights which allow for the speed of travel, etc. — that is, 
learning to give the proper deflection of aim so your bul- 
lets will cross his line of flight when he is crossing the 
bullets' line. Then we have surprise targets which pop 
up at certain intervals here and there, and you load, aim 
and shoot a burst. It is a training in quickness and pre- 
cision. The idea of all this work is to make shooting as 
second nature as flying. We also have shooting at toy 
balloons and clay pigeons. Occasionally buzzards fly over 
and we all pot away at them. In the air we have the 
camera gun practice, flying the machine and shooting at the 
same time. 

Then flying with a pilot while you stand in the rear 
cockpit with a gun on a swivel and shoot at a target 
towed by another machine, or silhouettes of machines on the 
ground, getting practice in diving down within a few hun- 
dred feet, firing a burst and soaring up again. You can see 
it is all very valuable and practical work and very interest- 
ing. Then in addition there is the work on the guns, ti^e 
care and cleaning, and the knowledge of the action and name 
of parts, etc. All that I have absolutely cold, for that re- 

[48] 



quires only study. We also have practice on jams so we can 
quickly fix the gun, spot the trouble instantly, and know just 
what to do. Air battles are a matter of seconds only; each 
second may mean a lifetime, so an absolute knowledge of 
the gun is essential. Some fellows borrow others' notes and 
skin through any old way, but that seems short-sighted to me. 

In case you see reports of men being killed down here, — 
there have been three this week, — you don't need to worry 
about me, for in all cases it has been their own fault, " stunt- 
ing" and taking chances too close to the ground, so they 
didn't have a chance to get out of their trouble before they 
hit. And in this gunnery course there is no chance of trou- 
ble, for it is straight work and no solo work, always with an 
experienced pilot. 

Lots of love to all the family 

U. S. Headquarters, Wing 1, Camp Taliaferro, 
School of Aerial Gunnery, 
Fort Worth, Texas, November 16. 
Dear Mother, — 

Plans are beginning to be more definite so I can give you 
some information. The course is to be about four weeks, 
ending Saturday, November 30th. Next day we leave for 
Toronto where we are commissioned, and I should be home 
by Thursday or Friday of the first week in December. I 
suppose the leave won't be more than ten days, so I will be 
leaving about the 15th. I am sorry we aren't to have Christ- 
mas together, but unfortunately Kaiser Bill won't stop for 
a vacation. 

That means only two weeks' more work, and then for the 
commission. I certainly shall be glad to have it and to feel 
it was earned. I am getting along nicely in my work, get- 
ting considerable more accuracy: on several tests, being the 
best in my squad. It is going to take a good Hun to get me, 
if I know it. 

November 19. 
Dear Father, — 
,, Yours of the 12th came, giving me the news of the family. 
I wish I could have been with you all on Beth's birthday, 
but if things turn out as I hope, I shall be home for Thanks- 

[49] 



giving, and perhaps you and Os can get " leave " for the day 
so we can all be together for a memorable day. We had a pre- 
liminary oral examination to-day which I had no trouble with, 
and Friday night we shall be all finished. I shall be very 
proud of my commission, for it means much to be an officer 
in the first ranking branch of the British Army, to be one 
among the finest of men who have distinguished themselves so 
splendidly, being ready to have my chance, and having back 
of me three months of priceless, interesting and valuable 
training, development and experience. 

Incidentally I will be receiving the sum, amounting with 
allowance and flying bonus to about seven dollars a day with 
a two-hundred-dollar equipment allowance to begin on, so I 
can settle up that Liberty Bond business with you and still 
be well fixed. 

Had a nice long letter from Beth to-day with lots of home 
news. It is going to be terribly good to be home. I'm hold- 
ing my breath in anticipation. 

Much love. 

Friday, November 23. 
Dear Mother, — 

Your letter of the 20th brought me great happiness to-day, 
together with the satisfaction of having completed success- 
fully the last lap for a commission. We took our examina- 
tion yesterday afternoon, and I feel that if I didn't receive 
the highest grade I was among the highest, for I absolutely 
know the subject. 

In the evening the 0. C. had each man come into his 
office, probably so he could associate the name and face 
together in writing out the report that goes over with us. 
He just asked a few general questions of no particular 
pertinence. Then he asked, " Do you think you know the 
gun? " I said, " Perfectly, sir." He said, " I should scarcely 
dare say that myself! " " Then I should say," I replied, 
" that I know perfectly everything that has been given us in 
the course of instruction." 

And I do, for I felt all along that effort expended now in 
learning the guns till, like flying, they require no thought 
to operate, would be like paying so much on my life in- 
surance policy. To get extra sureness, when some of my 

[501 



friends realized I did know the work pretty well, they 
would ask me to explain a point, and going over and 
over the different points, explaining rather than being 
explained to, drove the whole business home, to stick. 
Then, when I had a chance I would ask my squad in- 
structor to ask me questions to try and stick me. In this 
way I was able to find out what I did n't know and so get it. 

In the actual shooting my record was near the top of my 
squad in every test, and in two it was at the top. However, 
we get a lot more opportunity to practice shooting in Eng- 
land, so I know with what I have had here as a basis, I can 
learn to do it well. Then, with a good machine, good flying, 
and good shooting, my chances are better than the average of 
coming back. In college, when I failed an exam you would 
say, " It is your old failing — rather be lazy and take a chance 
than make sure." If I do have bad luck you can have the 
satisfaction of knowing it wasn't because I left anything to 
chance. But when I look round the room, I can see the 
below-average fellows, — their chances are slim. Then I see 
the average, the fellows who did only what they had to do, 
somehow failing to see the importance of excelling. They 
have fifty-fifty chances, one as good as the other. Then there 
are the above-average fellows, a large percentage of whom 
should be able to tell their children all about it afterwards. 

Some of course may have circumstances against them, but 
not because they neglected anything. These are the ones I 
want to be with. The 0. C. planned to retain several as flying 
instructors, those with special qualifications of age, tempera- 
ment, skill and good record, and I was gratified to hear that 
I was one of them. But I was glad to hear later that orders 
came from headquarters not to keep any from this course, 
so we can now go right over and get extra time in England 
before being sent over to France in the spring. If I was 
retained for three months, which is as long as is allowed, 
I would be sent to France almost immediately after arriving 
in England, for as spring approaches, more are needed. So 
this way I may have as much as two or three months' prac- 
tice in England, before being sent to the front. More in- 
surance. 

I can't express to you how much I appreciated all you said 
in your letter. It is such an incomparable joy to feel I am 

[51] 



coming up toward your standards; for it is only in this way 
that a son can repay his mother for what she has given him, 
literally everything. And it is going to make things so easy 
to feel that we are backing each other up through the fight, 
right side by side, regardless of the miles between us, for 
this bond diminishes any distance to nothing. 

Beth wrote me that you were working over at Irvingcroft, so 
I understand why you had not written, for I know how hard 
you go at house-cleaning. You must not give more strength 
than the job is worthy of, for another job may come along de- 
serving more energy and you won't have it to give. You must 
keep all you have, for when I come back after the war we 
will have so much to do, and I am afraid the war will be 
long yet, so be careful of yourself. It is needless to say 
how much I shall be looking forward to that day. . . . 

My leave in any case is going to be as good as a lifetime 
to me, for I have been away long enough, and have come 
close enough to what is ahead to be able to prize it at what 
it is, a tiny foretaste of heavenly happiness we shall have 
when it is all over and we have earned peace. 

Well, those the war doesn't kill with pain, peace will kill 
with joy, so what's the use of worrying which does it? 
Nothing like it. You have dipped me into the River of Styx 
of your boundless love so completely that not even my heel 
is left. 



[52] 



BEFORE SAILING 

En Route, 

,,,77 December 14, 1917. 

Mother dear, — 

I was sorry I did n't have things to say which would 
have helped you more when we said good-bye, but after all, 
words could n't help much. You have got to think of the 
things it is going to mean to us all that I can be in it. If just 
the training has opened my eyes to so much, think what I shall 
get out of the real struggle with the daily association among 
fine men who are doing big things. We are going to get a 
great deal out of our letters, even if often they are delayed, 
and they will help to bring us close together in spite of the 
distance. 

Even if I don't come back, it is all right. Mother, 
for you know we can't hope to gain such wonderful ends 
without paying big prices, and it is not right to shirk pay- 
ment. I know you will come to the top and see all the many 
wonderful things to be glad for, and not grieve any more, 
and that you will accept bravely and gladly whatever may 
come, without worry or foreboding. And my chances are 
really good that I can return; for I have learned my work 
well and driven into myself a course of conservation, un- 
wavering determination, which is going a long way toward 
bringing me back. I haven't relied on hunches or chance 
or luck; and if I had, I should have as good chances as 
any other. This way I believe better. 

Oh, it has been such a perfect and complete vacation in 
every way, — not a regret, and unexpected happiness, so it 
is easy for me to go and do the very best that I can. 

I doubt if you can read this, as the train is so rough. But 
I wanted to chat with you a few minutes and tell you I am 
so happy, so you can be glad. Bear up. Mother. Our fight 
is on, and we are going to win, you and I, no matter how 
hard it is. I'll try to drop a card at least before embarking. 

Montreal, Canada 

r» Tif 7 December 18, 1917. 

Dear Mother, — 

We did get in before noon all right and reported as di- 
rected. We were given transportation to St. John with or- 

[53] 



ders to leave here to-night at seven. I understand it takes 
over a day to get there, so it will probably be Monday or 
Tuesday before we get on our way to sea. A week from 
this is Christmas Day, and allowing four days before I can 
cable, and a day for transmissions, don't expect to hear for 
about two weeks from to-day. And remember, if you don't 
hear, then there are countless reasons which we don't know 
about which might easily account for it, and you would hear 
if there had been trouble. So just be patient and don't 
worry. It is strain and worry that will wear on you and 
make you grow old. Remember, they won't do any good, 
and I am looking forward to finding you fresh and strong 
on my return, so we can do the nice things together that 
we want to. 

It is nice, in a way, and not so hard as I expected getting 
back again under orders, etc. For all these fellows I have 
gone through with are here and we are getting into the at- 
mosphere again. And then of course I have the Happy 
Secret to carry with me which makes all so complete and 
satisfactory, and I know you are glad that it is so easy 
for me. I only wish there was something equal to it I could 
give you to help. But there is lots in it out of which you 
can get comfort and satisfaction, and I know you will look 
at these things and be brave and happy. 



Montreal, Canada 
Saturday Afternoon, December 18, 1917. 
Dear Beth, — 

Just a line before leaving here for St. John, where we sail. 
It is useless to try to tell you how much my vacation meant 
to me aside from the new happiness. For even though the 
kids were sick I liked being with them more than I ever 
did before. And I think the visit gave us an opportunity to 
get to know each other a little better. I appreciated the 
way you said good-bye to me, it meant a lot — more than if it 
had been different. 

I know what you are going through and have yet to 
bear and it gives me the deepest respect and pride in you. 
Sometimes it may seem as if you won't be able to go through 
with it all, but don't think of it all, for that is overpower- 

[54] 



ing, just carry on from day to day. No one can get up 
enough strength to meet the whole thing, but some can scrape 
up enough for each day and I have confidence that you 
can. And now that the situation is here, I know neither 
you nor Mother, nor any of us, would have it different, for 
it means so much to us that we can be in it, in something 
bigger than ourselves. 

I am so fortunate to have things turn out so unexpectedly 
happy for me and everything about the situation so perfect, 
as you pointed out, all the sweetness of this new joy with 
none of the pain of ruptured associations. I feel it is 
almost unfair for my going to be made so easy compared to 
other fellows, and the struggle you and Mother have to meet. 
Of course I want terribly to come back now, but if I don't, 
you and Mother can know, it was 50 easy to remain. I think 
I am going to do well, for this has put a new responsibility 
on me. I shall not be too cautious and hesitate in a vital 
moment. I feel well equipped and full of pep and so Fm 
not worrying or thinking about the outcome. I don't need 
to, for it will take care of itself. 

You take good care of yourself and those nice kids, and if 
I am *' detained " a while you tell them about their old Uncle 
as they grow up and can understand, so they will know what 
we are trying to do for them and getting so much out of, 
ourselves. But I expect I can tell them myself. 



St. John, N.B. 
December 21, 1917. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

We got in late last night, about ten hours late, and spent 
the night comfortably at this hotel, and we go on board this 
morning. I am told there are two first-class steamers going 
over, so I guess we shall have a fine trip and lots of fun. My 
cold is a thing of the past now, so I am feeling fine. 

It certainly is cold up in this region. Yesterday morning 
as we traveled through the northern part of Maine it was 
22° below. It made me feel as if I was going to the farm 
as we passed through long stretches of woods with deep, dry, 
clean snow piled high everywhere, and I enjoyed the trip 
greatly in spite of its extra length. 

[55] 



I wish I could be with you this day to cheer you up, but 
my thoughts are there even if I can't be. I know you will 
be in the swing and routine of things again and won't worry 
about me any more than when I was away in Texas. As I 
get back among the fellows again and look them over I can't 
help feeling as before, that my chances are really good and 
we shall all be together again when this is over. Perhaps 
even something will turn up so I won't have to wait till the 
end. Don't get impatient waiting to hear, for there are bound 
to be delays of one sort or another. 

Have a really happy Christmas there all together, being 
glad that I am where I am, for you know none of us would 
want it different. 

Loads of love to all. 



[56] 



GOING OVER 

The Canadian Pacific Ocean Services Ltd. 
R. M. S., December 22, 1917. 
Dear Mother, — 

I thought we should never get away! Running madly 
about after trunks and luggage, we got on board and didn't 
move from the dock till the middle of the third day. Al- 
though it is a small ship, it is good, clean, and they say sea- 
worthy. My room is well forward, so there is no engine 
vibration, and I expect a very pleasant trip. Perhaps this 
note won't get to you. I am writing it on the chance it will 
be taken off at a stop we expect to make. Anyway it will 
do me no harm to try. Now you can easily see it will be 
some time later before you get letters back from the other 
side, because we are leaving so much later. 

It is hard to realize it is a week since I left you all, for 
one loses track of time when doing nothing. I suppose before 
we know it we shall be over. I shall be glad to get settled 
at work again, for this doing nothing with everything ahead 
is rather trying. . . . 

We have a wireless report that Kaiser Bill is making an- 
other peace offer. Wouldn't it be nice if we had this little 
cruise and came back again! No, now that I have gone this 
far, I want a chance to try out what I have acquired. Then, 
when I have got in some good licks, they can't have peace 
too soon to please me. It really may come, and some time it 
will have to come, and I believe I shall be around. Then for 
home, but now for the work. Remember, you aren't going 
to worry at delays and rumors, — wait for facts; they will be 
good ones that I am going to furnish you, so every day you 
will be more glad that things are as they are. 

Much love to all. 

The Canadian Pacific Ocean Services Ltd. 
R. M. S. December 28, 1917. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

If you received the letter I sent ashore at the first stop you 
will not have wondered why you haven't heard from me 
sooner. We are not allowed to send mail ashore that way 
usually, but the 0. C. was going ashore, so he took it for 

[57] 



me, though he may not have mailed it. It has been a long, 
tedious trip, — two weeks, I expect, from the time we first 
got on till we disembark. But in the worst weather, which 
was round Christmas, I was never seasick, and we have had 
pretty good fun, for in a crowd of men there are always 
funny things happening. We all read about the disaster at 
Halifax, but you had to see it to form any conception of how 
terrible it must have been. At the farther distances, just 
windows and chimneys were broken; nearer, roofs and walls 
were caved in; and then in the immediate area, a whole hill- 
side was stripped as flat as if it had been raked, not even 
heaps of wreckage, — everything level. It must have been 
incredibly terrific. 

The day before Christmas it began to get pretty rough, 
and that night the ship rolled so that it was impossible to 
sleep a wink, for it was a continual fight to keep from rolling 
out of the bunk. Half the ship was sick Christmas. They 
decorated the dining-room up a bit with paper and flags, but 
it only made the absence of Christmas greens the more no- 
ticeable. There wasn't one Christmasy thing the whole day. 
They did give us turkey in the evening at dinner, and at our 
table we opened up a little champagne (Pol Roger 1904, 
only 14 shillings), which put some degree of life in us; but 
never again will I spend Christmas on the sea. 



[58] 



OVERSEAS 

The Royal Overseas Officers Club, 
At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
January 2, 1918. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

Monday night I arrived in Glasgow. The day was not 
very clear, but the smooth rolling hills, green in spite of 
some snow and cold, were very beautiful as we came up the 
Clyde. You know it is the greatest shipbuilding port in the 
world and was very interesting to see. I came down to Lon- 
don with three others in a compartment, sitting up all night 
and no heat in the car. It was very uncomfortable and 
tedious, but I went to a hotel and last night got a good sleep. 
During the day we were busy at the airboard office getting 
our bearings. Yesterday being a holiday, I had to wait till 
to-day for my mail, and I was so very glad to find some there, 
— one from you each, one from Beth, and two from Grace. 
It seemed a very long while since I had seen you all, and these 
made the London fog seem lighter. 

But I'm in no gloom, for we really are having a great 
time. We came down here, four of us, and became members 
by merely signing our names. One of the fellows had been 
told about it. It is a very large fine club, with Turkish baths, 
a wonderful swimming-pool, and all the conveniences of a 
most up-to-date hotel. It is so popular that they could not 
give us rooms, but instead, gave us an order on the Strand 
Palace Hotel, so we get a 15-bob room for 6 bob. We are 
given leave till Monday the 8th to get rested and buy cloth- 
ing, etc. So this way we can have a good time, live in the 
best way and yet have minimum expense. The club, I be- 
lieve, has been taken over by the military authorities for this 
purpose, and they make up the deficit. 

The four fellows I am with are most congenial. One is 
H from East Orange, who spoke to us on the train plat- 
form when I left. Another is a fellow from Baltimore; one of 
us is the man who went through the S. of M. A. ahead 
of the others. He is very amusing in the constant blunders 
he makes. After a final one, tipping a barber 2 bob, I took 
all his money from him except some small change, and so I 
take care of him. The fourth is an older fellow from Men- 

[59] 



treal. We are hoping we shall be placed in the same squad- 
ron, but can't be sure, as the last draft was very much divided 
up. 

It was pretty soft this morning being wakened by a pretty 
chamber-maid with a tray of tea and toast. This London life 
is great stuff! Well, we may as well enjoy it while we can. 

I suppose you began to wonder why you did n't hear from 
me, but the trip was much longer than we expected. We get 
special rates on cables, — tuppence ha'penny a word, — so it 
does n't cost much, you see. 

I'll write again toward the end of the week and tell you 
what I am doing. Much love. 

The Royal Overseas Officers Club 
At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
January 3, 1918. 
Dear Beth, — 

Your letter was most appreciated when I found it with 
several others on my arrival. 

I am relieved to know Mother has adjusted herself to my 
absence so well. It was hard for her to let me go, but when 
my letters begin coming at regular intervals it will be easier 
for her. And from all that I can gather I shall probably be 
here in England several months, as they can do very little 
flying in this weather. 

There certainly is a difference in being an officer. Being 
a gentleman means more in England than in America. This 
club is a wonderful place to be in; for it is very cheap to 
stay in, and quiet and secluded, — far nicer than the best 
hotel in that way. But crude as we may be in America in 
some ways, we certainly know how to live comfortably, 
which they don't know here, or in France. 

Food is not unduly expensive, nothing to what it is in 
New York. There are certain things very scarce, how- 
ever. They weigh out your insufficient allotment of sugar 
for tea far more carefully than we weigh gold. War bread 
in limited quantities is given, not really so bad as it 
might be. And not much butter in evidence. But never- 
theless money has a sad way of melting. A pound 
seems to go as fast as a dollar, and until we begin securing our 
flying pay some of us are going to be pinched a bit. That 

[60] 



will start in a few weeks though, so I shall get on all right. 

I was interested in a number of Biblical references a fel- 
low had coming over on the boat, which coincided in placing 
the end of fighting in the middle of February. He was so 
convinced that he was taking bets on it. I don't expect it 
then, of course, but if Russia keeps on quibbling, at least 
she can't be an active aid to Germany, and this next spring 
and summer may see something decisive of a military na- 
ture, at least make the end more in sight than it seems to be 
now. 

H has a girl in Baltimore, and we make lots of plans 

how we are going to return — heroes, what? We have de- 
cided we shall be married in the R. F. C. dress uniform, 
which has blue trousers like the navy, except for a red stripe 
down the side, and a blue tunic cut on the lines of the regu- 
lar army coat, with gold buttons, gold wings, sword, etc. 
H has decided that he prefers to fight the war here in Lon- 
don, and I agree with him that it would be ideal, but not for 
that "returning hero" stuff. One might think the war was 
just outside the city walls, however, judging by the thousands 
of officers one sees on the streets. But then, it is not strange, 
for they all come to London for their leaves. 

Much love and remembrance to the kids. 

The Royal Overseas Officers Club, 
At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
January 6, 1918. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

Really I have done disgracefully little these five days but 
sleep, but the rooms are so cold and the beds so comfortable 
and warm, it is most conducive to sleep. Friday, however, 
I had an interesting time. H called at the office of a busi- 
ness connection of his firm, and the junior partner asked us 
out to dinner and theatre Friday. We had dinner at the 
Oriental Club, which he said was a typical old British club. 
We met his brother there, a lieutenant-colonel attached to 
the protection of London from air raids, and he told us 
many interesting things. He was a man of about fifty, tall, 
stiff, very precise. He had spent the greater part of his life 
in India in civil and military life. 

The club was interesting. Cold, barren, high ceilings, 

[61] 



yet lots of atmosphere. The walls covered with great full- 
length portraits. After the last course of dinner they re- 
moved the tablecloth for cigars and port, and the table 
was a solid piece of mahogany. We went to the theatre 
and saw a musical play, exceptionally good music and 
acting. We may have it on the English in hotels, but they 
certainly have good theatres. Lots of room in the seats, 
a bar at the rear for between the acts. And the only 
place you see good-looking women in London is on the 
stage. There they surpass those on the French stage and 
on ours many times over. The tax is very high, yet every 
theatre keeps overflowing for long runs, filled practically 
entirely by officers back on leave. 

To-morrow we report again, and I shall feel much better 
when I can get at work, for this doing nothing gets on one's 
nerves. From what others say who have come over on pre- 
vious drafts, we shall be in England about three months 
before you need begin worrying. 

I am sending separately a copy about the R. F. C. which 
contains some very interesting pictures. You may enjoy it 
and pass it round the family. I have sent one to Grace also. 
I'm going to try for some more mail to-morrow. I hope I'll 
have some luck. 

Much love to all. 

Royal Club for Officers, 
Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
January 7, 1918. 
Dear Ones, — 

To-day I reported at headquarters and was assigned to a 
camp about two hours outside of London in Hampshire near 
Andover. The squadron uses a type of machine which is 
one of the newest, large two-passenger, so your gunner pro- 
tects your rear; fast, and yet slow landing ability. They 
have had the highest average for safety at the front, so I 
couldn't be better fixed if I had been asked my choice. I 
go down to-morrow and shall be glad to get at work again, 
as it has been so long since I have done anything. I shall 
be there two or three months, so you have no need to worry 
for some time; and when I do get to the front I couldn't be 
in safer circumstances. 

[62] . . 



England, January 10. 
Dear Mrs. Cameron, — 

Not having had a reply from " Sandy " for some time I 
thought I would write you, in case he has been transferred 
to some other station, and you can give him my address. For 
I hate to get out of touch with my old friends these days 
when there isn't much joy to anticipate, and happiness con- 
sists largely in reminiscing about the good old days at Cam- 
bridge and Westford, which already seem so long ago. I 
don't think Sandy knew quite how much I enjoyed those 
diverting and restful week-ends which we occasionally spent 
with you all in Westford, a break in the Cambridge life, a 
little touch of family, and a taste of the country reminding 
me of the farm I love so much. I feel for the moment as if 
I were there, as I forget my surroundings in order to chat 
with you. I hope you will pardon me for doing so, and 
possibly you may be interested to know what I have been 
doing these several months. 

About the first of August I joined the Royal Fly- 
ing Corps and began training in Canada. There we flew 
the Curtiss machines, which are well qualified for the pur- 
poses of instruction. I remained there about three months, 
going about from one camp to another in the course of 
instruction, learning not only to fly, but quite a bit in con- 
nection with war, that is, artillery observation, reconnois- 
sance, photography, bombing, etc. It was a wonderful ex- 
perience, and the joy and exhilaration of flying is incom- 
parably wonderful, quite unsurpassed by anything in the 
world, and, I can assure you, far safer and less trying on 
your nerves than, for example, driving into town from West- 
ford on Monday morning in time for a nine-o'clock. 

The first ride is confusing, and I felt a bit nervous, but since 
then, when the novelty of the sensation was removed, I have 
never had a nervous moment. Doing the stunts which used 
to seem so daring and spectacular is really simpler than 
shifting a gear in a car, and a loop or two before breakfast 
is the best tonic and appetizer in the world. Really I am 
not trying to appear blase about it. It is all so easy and nat- 
ural when once you have done it; there are no such things 
as acrobatics in the air, you never break a rule of gravity 
or nature, it requires no undue skill. Merely confidence in 

[63] 



yourself and the machine, push the lever one inch or two, 
so, then so, and you have looped or stalled, or made a tail- 
slide, or a nose-spin. 

And the wonder of the air when you are up above 
the clouds at an altitude of eight or nine thousand feet! — 
the clouds indescribably white and insubstantial on their 
upper side, the air free of the dust and moisture closer 
to the ground, which makes it seem thick and almost foul 
in comparison with this rare, clear space, which seems 
really to be vacuum. Sometimes these upper surfaces 
take on strange fantastic shapes — grotesque gnomes, 
you can imagine, grim fortresses, or dainty palaces of 
fairies, thrones of Olympus. One's imagination runs riot 
in these never-before-experienced surroundings. 

Once as I flew along on the very surface of a slightly rolling 
cloud floor, my wheels lightly skipping, just touching from 
one small hummock to the next, it seemed as if it were some 
ancient Grecian deity in his dragon-drawn chariot. Then, 
shutting off" the engine, a dive through the dense blindness, 
and out over the far-stretching flat country on which every 
field is laid out like an old-fashioned quilt. Long sweeping, 
graceful spirals and turns, a straightening out as the ground 
approaches, a gentle bump and short coast, and you are 
back again to the old solid earth, quite normal in spite of 
your mental vagaries a few moments before; they seem as 
unreal now as they did real before. 

And so it is. You go up and fly in the very clouds at sun- 
set, which are so gorgeously tinged at a distance on the ground, 
and find you can almost touch this intangible color. You 
begin to feel of another world. Then you come down and feel 
ready to devour a regular "Cameron" dinner, very much of 
this world! 

But I fear I have let myself get carried away, and it is 
difficult to convey any real understanding of the sensations 
to be had in flying. 

The weather became bad in the fall, so we went to Texas 
for a month to finish the course, and I arrived home for my 
leave soon after the first of December. I spent two most 
happy and satisfactory weeks with the family and came over. 
It was a bit hard on Mother to have me go, but my sister writes 
me she has adjusted herself admirably to the situation, so 

[64] 



of course I am very proud of her. For I learned in the 
summer I spent in France that it is you mothers who have the 
hardest fighting in this war; it was that, really more than 
anything else, patriotism, invaded neutralities, etc., alto- 
gether, which got a rise out of the easy-going old Briggs 
of Cambridge days. It is war on war that I am after, and 
it is my particular good fortune to be attached to a long-dis- 
tance bombing squadron which has for its purpose the de- 
struction of war-manufacturing plants. I shall be here for 
a couple of months flying different types of machines, and 
then we go across. 

The trip over here was uneventful and long, but there 
were many friends I had made in the course of training 
who came at the same time, so it was quite pleasant, — all 
except Christmas. That day was awful, but it is over now. 

I would give a good deal this minute if I could sit down 
at your piano for a little play, and then walk into the living- 
room and munch a chocolate and see you all; then get a 
good supper of eggs and shredded wheat and apple-sauce 
and things which I won't get quite so good till I am back there 
again some day — let's hope not too far off. 

Those were such good times, and it is a great joy to look 
back on them. We must have a grand reunion when we 
all get back. Please give my very best to Mr. Cameron 
and the girls, and remember me to the Abbots. If when 
you write Sandy next you will give him my address and 
ask him to give me the news of himself, I shall be very 
grateful. 

Andover, January 10, 1918. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

I came out here Tuesday afternoon and spent the first 
night at a little old inn. The town is not very large, but quite 
attractive, which always helps a lot, I think, to make one con- 
tent. Next day I was billeted with another fellow in a pri- 
vate house, where we have a nice light room and are very 
comfortable. But if these English people would use half 
the coal in a furnace that they bum in a dozen separate 
fireplaces about the house, they would keep warm and there 
would be enough coal left to supply the flat for a year. It 
really isn't cold, but it surely does feel so, and that is what 

[65] 



matters. But there is one time I always get warm. That is 
in bed. I haven't been in an micomfortable bed since I 
arrived in England. And the blankets are not only warm, 
but they are much larger than ours. Just the same, I am 
most grateful for the Angora when I first get in. 

I have been attached to a long-distance bombing squadron, 
and I think it will be most interesting, for there is always 
some definite object to fly to and something to accomplish, 
while the scouts' work, though more glorious, is just flying 
about waiting for something to happen. If later I find I 
am not really going to like this I can probably arrange to 
change to the scouts, but I shall let the matter alone for the 
present. 

I am getting very impatient for more mail. I have only 
had that which was here when I arrived. But it is quite 
likely that I shall receive some to-morrow. 

We all eat at an officers' mess and get plenty of bread and 
sugar, etc., which is short elsewhere. But the only vegetables 
they seem to know about besides potatoes are cabbage and 
brussels sprouts. They have jam, but no fruit beyond an oc- 
casional apple. However, I am making out all right, though I 
dare say I shall be a bit fed up with three months here. Per- 
haps we shall have peace by then. I guess every one wants it 
pretty badly among the Germans as well as Allies. America 
doesn't know what it is to want it yet. For America it is 
like a nightmare in which you half know you will soon 
wake up, and may perhaps in time. But here it is no dream. 
If the Germans make a supreme eff"ort this spring and it 
fails, then I think peace may be possible soon after. But 
unless every last eff^ort is made by the Allies, the Huns might 
not fail, for I believe they all recognize this is their last 
chance. It will be interesting to watch. 

Two summers ago Wilson was about as popular over here 
as Villa was in America. Now they use no limits in the 
length of their praise. His "war aims" speech made a 
great hit in Europe, greater than Lloyd George's. Just at 
present, America stands as high over here as she did low 
a year ago. . . . It is wonderful to be living in this age; 
there are big things going on. 

But I hope our mail does come to-morrow. It is easy 
enough to make sacrifices for big things, but it is darned hard 

[66] 



to go long periods without hearing about the little bits of 
things at home. I intend living quite considerably longer yet 
awhile, so when you write, tell me all the family gossip. 

January 12, 1918. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

Yesterday we had our flying kit issued to us, and it is 
most complete and good, worth easily a hundred and twenty- 
five dollars. There are flying-boots, very large, fleece-lined, 
rubber-soled, reaching clear up to the hip, so I shall have no 
more frozen feet, a large leather coat, fleece-lined, which 
will keep me warm in any wind, a fur-lined helmet that ex- 
tends inside the coat clear down to the shoulders, fur mit- 
tens that reach the elbows, so that flying will be comfortable 
at any altitude. 

I have begun flying one type of machine which is not 
much diff^erent from the one I learned on and shall have no 
trouble at all handling the other types we must fly. Yester- 
day two of the machines we are to fly at the front arrived 
and are being put together. They are wonderful big pow- 
erful machines holding the altitude record for the world, 
some 29,000 feet, and will climb up four miles in about 
half an hour. They certainly will be a joy to fly. 

This bombing is particularly attractive to me, for instead of 
aiming to kill men, as in fighting on the ground or even in 
scout fighting, we aim to destroy war manufactories, material 
things made to kill men. Thus we are striking at the very 
base of war. And this is most satisfying to me. For I am 
not in here for the sake of international treaties or patriot- 
ism, but to make war on war, because two summers ago I 
learned how much worse it is than the mere killing of men. 
In this branch of aviation there is not the opportunity for 
personal distinction that there is in the scout fighting, but 
even if I do not return a hero I guess you won't mind much, 
and probably my chances of returning are better. 

Meanwhile there is a great deal to be learned, all about the 
science of bombing, navigation and night flying, which will 
occupy two or three months, so all in all you have far less 
to worry about than we supposed when I left. 

Oh, that was such a perfect two weeks, absolutely satisfying 
and complete in every possible way ; and I live it over and over 

[67] 



and it helps pass the time till some more mail comes. It seems 
as if some must come now in a day or so, for the other fel- 
lows have been receiving American mail the last few days, 
so mail is being forwarded, I expect. 

You would have been amused yesterday, Father, at tea. 
One of the fellows — English, he was — came in and noticed 
we had toast instead of plain bread. "Oh, toast! I say, 
orderly, have you a few drippings, you know? " You can 
imagine the intonation. Instead of having butter we use a 
very good grade of margarine, but in asking for it at table 
we say, "Will you pass me the camouflage? " 

It has been much milder the last few days, so I have felt 
very comfortable, and things are easier now that I am back 
into the swing of work once more. If only some letters 
will come! But I expect you had a much longer wait, so I 
must be patient. 

Much love to all. 

January 13, 1918. 
Dear Father, — 

I am not noticing the cold nearly so much now, because 
I am really in better health than I was on account of the 
colds, and also I guess I am becoming more used to it. And 
with the fine equipment that was issued us, flying is a real 
pleasure. It sure is diff"erent and good being an officer, for 
it makes things better in a hundred diff'erent ways. I am 
getting along well. 

The few Canadians here with me have already in 
these few days made quite a reputation in the squad- 
ron, for we have nearly all had more flying hours than 
the English in the squadron at the same stage, and we learned 
on machines which are really quite a bit harder than those 
they learned on. So we are ever so much better off". They 
assumed, fellows with six or eight hours' solo, that as we 
had just come in w^e weren't much good, so they began tell- 
ing us all about it. We did n't say anything, but the first day 
on the machine several of us went up and did a few loops, 
etc., and then came down and acted nonchalant. The 0. C. 
of the squadron wanted to hug us all, for he said it was 
the first real flying he had seen in the squadron. 

When you are thinking of me over there you may be sure 

[68] 



my thoughts are right there beside you with love and long- 
ing, and I surely am hoping hard that next Christmas will see 
us all safely together, with this war over. That is optimistic, 
I fear, but I am going to hope for it just the same. 
Deepest love to all. 

Dear Mother,- •^^^^^''^ 1^' l^^^' 

From the way mail comes, I expect to receive mail about 
every two weeks, but when you don't expect it frequently, it 
isn't too hard to wait, and it is very exciting to have a whole 
batch come; you don't know which to open first, so you 
look for postmarks and get them all arranged, and then 
begin the feast. 

Speaking of feasts, some one told me that at the Red 
Cross place you can buy empty boxes made for the purpose 
of filling and sending overseas to men in the army. They 
can tell you what the size and weight instructions are. If 
you could get me a small one that could go by mail, sent c/o 
of the Air Board, etc., labeled, as I am told these boxes are, 
"Soldiers' Comfort Box." 

The work goes on as usual but slowly, partly because of 
weather, and partly because the English never will know 
how to do things quickly. The great marvel to me is how they 
have succeeded in doing as much as they have. First, they 
have no system at all; then, they have all system for the 
system's sake, forgetting the end, and it is just as bad. 
However, we move along slowly but smoothly in spite of it 
all. 

I was sorry to hear Harold Bradley got rather badly 
mashed up the other day, nothing permanent or too serious, 
but uncomfortable, — an arm and a leg broken I believe; he 
was stunting too near the ground. He is at another squad- 
ron, about ten miles from ours, and I have n't seen him. But 
he was in a scout squadron where stunting is part of the 
requirements. We don't do it as part of the business in 
our squadron, so you don't need to worry about me; besides, 
I don't intend to waste myself. . . . 

Cheer up. Mother, and don't worry. Even away over here, 
and freezing cold, I never knew so much happiness and con- 
tent, for I have a good job each day, and a wonderful mother 
and a sweet girl to dream of each night. 

[69] 



January 25, 1918. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

The day before yesterday they finished assembling two 
of the machines of the type we are to fly at the front, and 
one of the English fellows who has been here longest was 
given instruction on it all afternoon and then put back on 
one of the old machines till he could make better landings. 

Yesterday morning I was taken up for ten minutes' instruc- 
tion, made one landing, and allowed to go off solo. It is a 
wonderful big machine, a regular thoroughbred, as different 
from these other machines as a Pierce Arrow is from a 
Ford. And they are very careful of them, for they represent 
about, I should say, twenty thousand dollars, and with a 
little carelessness you could wipe out in a minute the work 
of skilled laborers for many months. So I appreciated their 
confidence in me, being the first pupil in the whole squad- 
ron to fly it alone. I think I gained their confidence by the 
way I brought in the machine I wrote about in the letter to 
Wilson yesterday. 

Well, I took it off" and went up for a while to try it 
out in the air and get used to it. Most machines have a very 
limited range of speed, having to land almost as fast as 
they fly. But this has a device by which you can regu- 
late the angle of a certain plane, and so make the ma- 
chine fly level, hands off", or climb, or glide down at an as- 
tonishing slow speed for landing compared to what it will 
fly at. You can land as slow as sixty and it will fly well 
over a hundred, and, with the engines which the machines 
are equipped with at the front, quite a bit faster. But, on 
account of the larger size and weight, a hundred and twenty 
miles in these do not seem much faster than sixty in the 
others, unless you pass one of them in the air, or fly down 
to the ground. 

Then I made a few landings successfully, and went up 
about a mile and made several successive loops. The 
Major was most delighted when I came in, for not even 
an instructor had stunted these machines here. But I have 
never seen such strength, such response to the controls, such 
a real engine. These are built for service, and you can have 
confidence in them, and it is a real joy to drive them. 

After lunch I went up again and climbed to 16,000 feet, — 

[70] 



that is over three miles. I noticed not the slightest difficulty in 
heart or breathing, and I believe that those who do have 
trouble, have it mainly from apprehension. At this height 
it was exceedingly cold, but keeping my head in the centre 
behind the cowling I was perfectly warm. 

I flew west over the plains of Salisbury where so many fa- 
mous battles of English history have taken place. Then down 
to Southampton and out away over the channel. If it had been 
a clear day I could easily have seen France from there. Then 
back I glided down a mile, going at times nearly a hundred 
and sixty miles an hour. Even in the air you could appre- 
ciate that was traveling some. 

Then I leveled off, to rest my ears a bit. Then directly 
over the aerodrome I went into a nose-spin, that is, nose 
and tail vertical, revolving round the axis of the body like 
a corkscrew. I kept in that for a mile straight down, and 
found it delightful and not a bit confusing. In fact, I would 
glance at my altitudes to see how low I was getting, look 
at the air-speed indicator, see to the temperature of pres- 
sure gauges, look out on the revolving country, perfectly 
clear-headed and comfortable and calm in what, until it 
was understood, was supposed to be a fatal stunt. To come 
out I merely released all the controls and she came out 
and leveled off at once of her own accord. I have seen one or 
two loops over the aerodrome, but not a spin. Then the 
last mile I glided down in long graceful spirals and turns 
and came in. 

Then I found the camp, all work stopped, standing round 
watching. The colonel of the wing himself was there, and 
complimented me on my flying — " Splendid exhibition, 
Adams." He is the funny former-actor-colonel with the 
monocle. He even removed it to have a look at me, for 
he can't see with it on! Two or three of the Canadians 
were asking me how she flew, and they said they were 
glad I had shown up some of these " lead-swinging " Eng- 
lishmen. Lead-swingers are those that stall along, doing as 
little as they possibly can, hoping the war will be over before 
they finish. There are quite a lot of them. You see, the 
best of them are already over there or dead. 

Flying this machine graduates me, so my papers are to 
be sent in at once, and now I shall draw full pay, plus 

[71] 



flying pay, and have full pay not drawn since I was com- 
missioned, made up from that date. If it goes through 
by the first of the month I shall be comfortably fixed and be 
able to get a few things I need very badly. 

I have only one more hour to fly on this machine now, a few 
simple ground tests in machine-guns, etc., and I shall be fin- 
ished. It ought not to take more than two or three days more. 
Then I go to the Aerial Gunnery Squadron in Scotland near 
Glasgow, I believe, for a week or two, and then I'm ready for 
business in France; where, I trust, I shall be able to do some 
creditable work, for I do feel very well prepared. With such 
a machine you need have little worry. I mean that. 

I received a card from Cousin Fred in California, and 
a few such very fine letters from Grace, so all in all I am very 
happy and eager to go over and deserve some of the good 
fortune that has been given me. 

England, January 26, 1918. 
Dear Beth, — 

I am very pleased with the way I have been able to get 
along, for I expected to drag out here till the end of March. 
At present I am the farthest advanced of any one in the 
squadron; in fact, the first clear day, I can finish in an hour. 
So, accounting for delays of one sort or another, I ought 
surely to be at the front by the first of March. I certainly 
hope so, for it is going to make things easier all round. 

I believe you will find it the same with Oswald ; once he is 
on the line, the long wearing dread of that moment will have 
passed, and while your anxiety will be great, it won't wear 
on you the way this delayed evil does. And he will be easier 
in his own mind too, and cease to care about casualty per- 
centages. The closer you get, the easier it becomes, for the 
less you think of it. 

I have never been happier than now with the satisfaction 
of Her letters and the consciousness of the treasure that is 
mine, the deepest bond that these experiences have meant 
with you all and home, and the keen anticipation of the great 
adventure in the near future, with its great opportunities. 

Much love to you and the little ones. 

P. S. Tell Os I shall be driving a 400 Rolls Royce. 
Some class! — what? 

[72] 



January 27, 1918. 
Dear Mother, — 

... I have now only to wait for a clear day to finish just 
an hour's work and I will be done here. I am so pleased, for I 
am ahead of every one else in the squadron regardless of 
how long they have been here, and have won the confidence 
of the instructors as well as several fellows who have asked 
to go up with me. 

When one pupil is willing to go up with another it 
is quite a mark of confidence, for generally you feel nervous 
unless you are with an instructor or driving the machine 
yourself. And when I get to France I am determined 
it shall be the same way. Before I finish I want to be the first 
man in the squadron. It is best that way. You know it is the 
last man the Huns always watch out for. 

But you must n't expect immediate advancement as in the 
case of Oswald, for our work is done more in squadrons than 
as individuals; it is team work, so I won't be winning distinc- 
tion. However, if I can hold up my position in the team 
and play with them I shall be content. . . . 

January 30, 1918. 
Dear Beth, — 

Your letter of the 7th came to-day and I can't tell you how 
much I appreciate your writing me, for letters mean at least 
double what they ordinarily do, in this situation. 

I am feeling rather badly off" to-night in consequence of a 
most unfortunate accident to-day in which I was really a 
contributing cause, if indirectly. You see, I was the first 
pupil in the squadron to fly one of the new machines, and I 
gave a pretty good exhibition to these Englishmen of what 
American blood can do. So another Canadian next furthest 
advanced to me naturally wanted to try the same things, and 
as a result, the machine collapsed, both wings falling off" 
4000 feet up, and he was killed. A perfectly wonderful fel- 
low, — jolly, and liked by every one. You wouldn't have 
felt so badly about it if he had been shot down at the front, 
for there is so much satisfaction in such a death, or even if 
he had been killed doing something foolish or stunting close 
to the ground. Those accidents happen frequently, and we 
just shrug our shoulders and carry on. But this was abso- 

[73] 



lutely no fault of his. Furthermore, it happened in the same 
machine I had stunted in, and, while these are war machines, 
built to stand anything, I feel perhaps I may have strained 
something which gave way under the stress this time. Of 
course I am in no way responsible, but it does bring it pretty 
close to me, and I feel terribly about it. 

Fortunately I finished all my work in this squadron to-day 
so I won't have to go up for some time, and I guess I shall 
feel better later on. It is very gratifying that I was the first 
to finish, for there are a lot of English fellows that have been 
here several months, and it has taken me just three weeks 
including much delay by bad weather. But it is really all 
a matter of pushing yourself, — that is, being on the spot 
when there is a vacant machine or any work to be done. 

It was quite amusing yesterday. You see, the colonel of the 
wing was on the aerodrome the other day when I was up in 
the new machine for the first time, and saw me stunting, 
which quite delighted him. So he learned who I was by 
name. Then he said, "When you finish, come to me and I 
will give you four days' graduation leave." "Pardon, sir, 
but if I can get right on to the gunnery squadron I had rather 
waive the leave, as I am anxious to get out to the front," said 
I. At first he was inclined to think it a pose, — he couldn't 
grasp the point of view; but he was quite delighted when he 
realized I meant it. 

However, the next course may not begin for a week or more, 
so I may take a leave and rest here a few days. I have n't 
enough spare cash to go up to London for more than a day or 
two, and I do need a little rest. . . . 

I have now only this two weeks' gunnery course and I 
shall be a complete Service Pilot, and hope very much that, 
with the delays of training and all, I may be in active ser- 
vice by the first of March. I may have to wait a while for 
a vacancy, but at least my training will at last have been 
completed, so I'll have that satisfaction. 

February 1, 1918. 
Dear Father, — 

. . . Having finished up the work here, I am enjoying 
greatly a few days' rest from the absolute regularity of the 
past three weeks, Sundays included. For you do get tired of 

[74] 



getting up every single morning in the dark and cold, not 
even having one day a week on which you can lie in bed a 
bit longer. I don't know how long it will be, but I hope 
soon, when I can go on and do the two remaining weeks' 
training; after which I shall be a full-fledged service pilot, 
and the day I set foot on France will be surpassed only by 
the day I once more walk into 32 Llewellyn Road. I am 
sure you and Mother feel the same about it. 

I had an interesting experience to-day, going to the mili- 
tary funeral of one of the Canadian fellows who was killed 
the other day through collapse of his machine. He was a 
splendid type of fellow, and it was a shame that he should 
go, through no fault of his own, when he was so nearly 
finished. We formed up; practically every officer in the 
station was there, a fine tribute to the fellow. He was placed 
on a gun carriage drawn by four horses, preceded by a band 
playing a slow march, and flanked by two files of armed 
soldiers. The service was held in a church and completed 
in the cemetery adjoining. There the soldiers fired their 
volleys and the buglers blew a call, and as we walked away, 
each of us stepped to the grave and saluted our comrade. 
No man could ask for a finer service. It was impressive, 
solemn, dignified and genuine. . . . To be working 
at a worth-while job of any sort is satisfactory, and 
this in particular. And to make it all easy I have the 
continual consciousness of the thoughts and interest and 
love of you all. And also there are the many little 
material reminders, — the cigarette holder from Howie, 
the letters that I read over, the pictures which I have of each 
of you. And every evening after tea when I come in for a 
quiet evening before the fire, remove my wet shoes and put 
on the "comfy" slippers and wrapper Mother provided me 
with, I couldn't be better off". I certainly am awfully lucky. 

Love to all the family. 

Thursday, February 7. 
Dear Mother and Father ^ — 

It has been nearly a week since I wrote, but, as I have been 
doing no work, there was little to tell about, so I have spent 
more of my time reading. I am getting fed up with this 
doing nothing, but I can't get on to the next squadron till the 

[75] 



latter part of next week. However, it has been good for me, 
for I have not had to stand round for each day in the cold 
and wet, and it has abolished the last trace of cold which 
hung on mildly ever since I left home. And it has been fun 
to feel free of the regularity, — quite like the old Cambridge 
days when I could read or write as late as I wished, knowing 
I could sleep in the morning. . . . This week I have 
really seemed so far off from the war that at times it was 
difficult for me to realize I was in any way connected with 
it, for I have drifted into the state where mental interests 
were the main pleasure, — reading, writing, philosophizing. 
I am glad I had the opportunity, however, for it gave me 
a chance to think out one or two questions which I have held 
off for several months, being engrossed in the more active 
work. . . . But now these matters are shaping themselves 
more clearly and definitely, and I can put all my energies 
in the real work without distraction. . . . 

This regular fare is good for one even if it does become 
monotonous — potatoes, meat and brussels sprouts (without 
vinegar) or turnips alternating for lunch and dinner, fol- 
lowed by a sweet, as a bit of cornstarch pudding with a quar- 
ter of a preserved plum by way of flavor, or some tapioca. 
It keeps one well and you can get your fill, but in that dim 
uncertain day when I set foot in the home, with all restric- 
tions done with, I know what I shall choose to eat. It is 
funny how one's world becomes fenced about in this sort 
of life. You think of your work, talk of it all day long, dis- 
cuss rumors about it, dream of it. Then you stop and say, 
Let's go eat. You work your stomach, and not much con- 
cern about your soul. But that is a good healthy way to live. 

A year ago I was home with you all during the midyear 
period; now everything is so completely different from that 
life, — the change in situation, circumstances and attitude. 
I often feel as if I was sound asleep in a dream, — not a bit 
bad either, for it is either one of those dreams you can't re- 
member when you wake up or when you do remember it will 
be a dream with such a happy ending. It makes it very easy. 
Nothing, such as discomforts physical or of the heart, seems 
to penetrate inside the blanket of sleep, and what you can't 
have in real dream is here, the foreknowledge of a happy 
awakening. 

[76] 



Sunday, February 10, 1918. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

It is a perfectly wonderful springlike day, warm and 
clear, and some violets on the lawn below my window are 
in bloom. This certainly is a strange climate. 

I am going up to town to-morrow to get a few things I 
need, and next day go on up to the next squadron for a two 
weeks' course, after which I shall be entirely finished ready 
for service. Then I return here probably to instruct, and 
wait till there is a vacancy, when I shall be sent out. That 
can't come too quickly to please me, but there is no telling 
how soon it will be; it might be only a few days, or it 
might be a month or more. . . . 

I expect to find quite a bit of mail uptown (London) to- 
morrow, as I wrote Cox to hold it about a week ago, and so 
am anxious to get there. No one here can understand why, 
for a week and a half perfectly free, I have not spent the 
time in London. But I have read a number of good books, 
had a fine rest, and have had to spend no money, and what 
I save now going without what they call a good time will be 
repaid many times over when I spend it according to my 
plans. 

Much love to all the family- 



[77] 



IN SCOTLAND 
TuRNBURY, Ayrshire, Scotland, 

Dear Father and Mother, — ^ ' 

I have n't written since leaving London because I have been 
working pretty hard and felt ready for bed early. This is 
the best place I have been in yet, a wonderful big hotel sur- 
rounded by a famous golf course right on the edge of the 
sea, from which Ireland can be dimly seen. It must have 
been a very gay place in the days before the war. Cousin 
Jack visited it as one of the points of a golfing tour he took 
several years ago. 

For the first time since coming in contact with this 
army I am in a place in which the management leaves 
nothing to be desired. No time wasted, good instruc- 
tion, much work accomplished. I feel I have gained 
quite a bit of accuracy and second nature in the handling of 
the guns, — ever so much more than what I got in longer 
time in Texas. But, much to my sorrow, just as I felt I 
was about completed, I received orders to proceed to an- 
other squadron back near where I came from when I finished 
here. It is for a further course in bombing, which will be 
valuable toward doing more accurate work in the field. But 
I am disappointed, for I hoped to go out by the first of 
March. 

Judging by indications, it is going to be interesting out 
there this spring and summer. Lots of action and move- 
ment, so we won't get bored staying in one place doing 
nothing. You see, home and peace are such good things that 
a hundred little reminders of their absence in a day make 
me want home very much. This generates a lot of energy 
which will flow out naturally when I am at work toward 
those ends. But meanwhile I seem to move so slowly. . . . 

Make Line keep at the pace. To think of the pace this 
war has required with never the slightest slackening, when 
thought of as three and a half years, means little, but when 
thought of as so many years of twenty-four-hour, sixty-minute 
days of supreme deadlocked effort, never a relaxation or 
breathing spell and all on such a titanic scale, that is what 
surpasses comprehension. When any one slackened a bit 
it meant disaster, as in the case of Russia and Italy. It has 

[78] 



meant that all of the millions composed of separate individ- 
uals in the field and at home have stuck hard at their jobs, 
putting in always a little more effort than the day before. 

Reports in our papers from America are a little more 
optimistic in tone, but nevertheless, even though tremendous 
things are being done, they are awfully slow, and every min- 
ute counts. But they seem to be gathering a momentum which 
once started nothing can stop, and that is what we want. 

We don't want to stop till the job is satisfactorily completed, 
but it is a big job; some of its proportions will be sure to be 
larger than any one conceived of, I believe, in the next few 
months. It is going to be great to be in on it, so tremendous 
that the thought fairly sweeps one off one's feet. It puts all 
of life on such a simple balance; here is a tremendous bit 
of work to be done which completely obliterates the little 
things of life which always seemed so important in the past. 
All one has to do is to give all his energy, just put every- 
thing in with one simple sweep, and when every one has done 
the same, the job will be finished, and the gain is so much 
bigger than what it may cost in these little things that they 
don't have to be even thought of. 

I have often wondered what we shall do when it 
is over and we go back to the little things. I don't think 
the new growth and breadth it gives will be lost in a re- 
action of apathy. I believe after the war this energy will 
keep on and will never be lost. It will be turned toward 
making the little things of life bigger in each individual's 
case, and we shall see a rate of progress and achievement 
in the peaceful work of the world never before approached. 

I enjoyed Mr. Pringle's letter with its farm concerns. It 
makes one feel attached to something substantial to know 
the old things are going on — getting out firewood, and pulp, 
and so on. So old Colonel is gone. He certainly was a 
good old animal and gave us lots of service. I remember 
how we used to alternate week by week with him and Madge 
and Belle in the old days when we drove to school ten years 
ago. It doesn't seem so long as that, for that winter is so 
vivid to me, — Miss Davy, Carol, Line and I together. I can 
even remember the toothache Carol spoke of in one of her 
letters to you. The work in the woods, Sid Clarke with his 
winter growth of beard, the daily lunches with Auntie, Uncle 

[79] 



Dan and Grandpa Kilbum, — they all are so vivid to me. 
I can hear their voices and see little gestures. Uncle Dan 
and his inevitable newspaper, Auntie with her bills at lunch, 
Old Colonel reaching out a bit on the last stretch coming 
home from school in the early twilight of the winter months, 
the light of the library lamp shining out, with its promise of 
home, warmth, supper, family, content. When these things 
abide, as with me now, they are n't dead, they are immortal, 
living, real, and in them is such sweet satisfaction. That is 
why I have been so determined about living with you at Irv- 
ingcroft when I come back, so when things begin to drop out 
of your lives, we shall have the home running to give a basis 
to keep all these memories alive, and new interests ever grow- 
ing to keep life ever full — our nurseries, grandchildren, re- 
unions, etc. And if for any reason I can't be the one to 
help bring this about, there is all the rest of the family, and 
you must all keep as close together as possible and carry on 
the Adams family just the same, for if I am anywhere that 
is where I shall be, at Irvingcroft and the farm always. But 
I shall see to it that I am actually there, never fear. 

It is great fun from time to time as I write in my " line-a- 
day " book to see what I was doing a year ago. I notice just a 
year ago Father made a flying trip to Littleton to settle some 
of Uncle Dan's affairs, and I had dinner with him on his 
way up at the Parker House, and again two days later, break- 
fast. I used to enjoy those briefs visits so much, as it was a 
chance to have a chat with him, and incidentally get a good 
meal as a break from the Cambridge fare. My, what a break 
such a meal would be now! But it will keep, and be all the 
better for the wait when I do get it. . . . 

Well, this letter has gone on to considerable length, and I 
guess I have spoken of everything I had in mind. I am in the 
best of health and feeling fine. The life is very healthful, 
even if it gets monotonous in the food, etc. And I am very, 
very happy and content; the little actual unpleasantnesses and 
separation feelings I don't let get inside at all, and the 
thoughts about you all and home are so vivid and happy, and 
your letters and love are such a comfort. And it's a good 
job. I'm only a bit impatient to be at it. So you have no 
need to worry about my welfare or happiness. 

Deepest love to all. 

[80] 



February 21, 1918. 
Dear Father, — 

To-day I finished all the instructional work here, and have 
only a couple of tests to pass off in the air before I go. Each 
day a group of fellows comes in and another goes out after 
a maximum period of two weeks, so there are a lot of groups 
in process of passing. They allow them four days to pass 
off the air tests, to provide for bad weather, for you can 
easily finish in a single day if it is clear. But if it is n't clear 
at all, you leave when your time is up just the same, and 
it does n't much matter, for they are not important. 

In the old days of college, when a man received a high 
mark and mine was just passing or average I accepted it as a 
matter of course, thinking that the high man received his 
mark because of superior inherited brain power, and I was 
meant to be only average. There seemed such a distance be- 
tween us that it never occurred to me to attempt to catch up 
to him, it was preordained otherwise. 

And yet, ever since the double shake-up I received in the 
early part of last July I began to make the effort to move out of 
the deadly limitations of the middle lot and was astounded to 
discover, in the various phases of my training in Canada and 
Texas, that the high man had probably little better brain than 
mine. It was merely a matter of seeing that the bonds holding 
me in the middle class were bonds of imagination and it only 
required moving one's feet to step out of the protecting but 
crushing crowd. So I began to go up nearer the top in vari- 
ous examinations and in the flying and found it is not a 
matter of superior mentality or any such thing, but merely 
more desire, more will. I figured that war is a risky busi- 
ness, but the risk was largely chance. Consequently, if I 
could master my particular job in all its branches I could 
reduce the element of chance to a minimum. You see, I 
have great incentive to return, so it doesn't take much will. 
But all in all I think it has been a real discovery for myself, 
and that I can profit by the same procedure in my work 
when I come back. 

It seems to me now that there is nothing impossible 
or out of reach if imagined obstacles coming from one's 
own mind are got rid of, and if one can stretch his imagi- 
nation beyond what he supposed were the limits of his 

[81] 



capacity, and see " big." Then it is a simple matter of 
getting up and going after it with a will. I think my experi- 
ences have taught me to see things in a larger way than I 
ever could before, — the bigness of the forces in this war. 
And searching for the good in it, and some of its fundamental 
causes in human nature, and its outcome in generations to 
come, has all stretched my mind a bit to grasp it. 

Then also, more concretely, the new spaces I have run from 
high altitudes, the new breadth which comes in moving in three 
dimensions, the sense of terrific force when moving through 
the air at such new speeds. " Like sixty " was the idiomatic 
expression of speed, a limit of our previous experience. Yet 
I have moved at sixty and a hundred more on top of that, 
when, protected from the force of the air, you could feel it in 
the bursting feeling it gives your head, and the fearful roar. 
Then the new sense of utter abandon and freedom in falling. 
We used to jump into the hay from ten to fifteen feet safely. 
I have let the machine fall its natural way when uncontrolled, 
a nose spin, for a full mile down vertical. These new things 
are beyond all previous experience, beyond the limiting wall 
beyond which we don't see because we don't know we can look 
till victory. These have all broken down limits in one place 
or another, so that when I come back and start other work, it 
ought to be easier to step over the apparent limits. 

This isn't much of a letter as letters go, but what I started 
out to say is, I received the highest mark in the examinations 
of our group of eighteen to-day, so you can see there is sound 
basis when I assure you that you need not worry about my 
welfare. This is substantial evidence of change. If I am 
better than the average here, I should be better than the 
average Hun as well. So you must not worry and must only 
feel joy that I am having the great privilege of being in the 
biggest thing in the history of the world. 

TuRNBURY, February 22. 
Dear Beth, — 

Another of your good letters came to-day — the 30th of 
January — and you have a remarkable ability to put a deal of 
news and satisfaction into one envelope, quite after Ben 
Franklin's style of conversation, to consider what interests 
the other. And I appreciate your writing at all, for I know 

[82] 



how busy you are and how much else you have to think of. 

It is tantalizing that Oswald was required to move away 
before it was time to go for good. It is hard, but it can't be 
helped, and it does mean more interesting work for him, I 
believe. But all this training uses up so much time, and time 
is so valuable out there, it makes one very impatient to move 
so slowly. And, valuable and necessary though it is, train- 
ing seems so insignificant a work in comparison with the 
real thing. I'm afraid I have another month yet, and I had 
hoped so much to get out by the first of March. But after 
all it does n't much matter — a month or two, for it looks 
as if things will start out there pretty soon now, and once they 
begin there will be no let-up till something breaks. Things 
will be hot, I expect, and terribly interesting, for they will 
be on a larger scale and more continuous in action than ever 
before. If Germany attacks, which the Allies hope she will, 
she can't stop, and the strain will break her back. The 
question whether she will or not will be answered soon. 

I interested myself the other day by trying to analyze the 
spirit which has actuated each country to fight in this war, 
the spirit which is the consummation of nationally charac- 
teristic human nature. The German seemed to be the spirit 
of a big, husky, mentally limited son of the big man in a 
small country town, a fellow who has a strength and posi- 
tion earned by his father, but which he is too limited and 
too arrogant to know how to use worthily. The American 
Spirit as I see it from speeches and editorials, etc., is the 
spirit for a simple principle, believed in coolly and con- 
sistently, the principle of a business man who deals hon- 
orably because all must if there is to be any security and 
confidence in the market. 

The Colonials have the spirit of a perfectly independent 
son, who supports his mother out of free loyalty to his 
filial bond. The English spirit is a pride in their traditions 
which were made by Drake and Wellington and Gordon, etc. 
It is not an unworthy pride. With France it ceases to be a 
spirit and becomes a soul — the soul you can see so near the 
surface in a person who has suffered almost beyond human 
endurance and has risen above and become strengthened by 
this suffering. It will never die. 

Isn't Russia ridiculous? " No, I won't make peace on your 

[83] 



terms because they aren't fair, but I don't want to fight any 
more. No fair hitting me now; I have my fingers crossed.'* 

I have n't heard a bit of real music since I left New York, 
except light stuff. All the Revues are a composite of Broad- 
way two years old, and the musical shows are generally su- 
perior to American. That is, the English can't write classical 
stuff or popular stuff, but are pretty good in the middle-class 
music. " Chu Chin Chow " is a show based on the Arabian 
story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and there are some 
catchy things in it. There is a march which would make a 
wonderful national marching song — a great swing to it and 
much connotation of a great moving body. If I can get a 
copy of it sometime I will send it over. 

I remembered it was " Howie's " birthday on the 14th and 
wanted to send him a cable, but honestly didn't have the 
kale. He will be about as big as "Day" was, when I get 
back, I expect. 

I haven't been at Lilbume, that is another camp. I was 
at Andover, and go next to Stonehenge down in Hampshire. 

Well, the time is getting on, so I must stop. 

Much love to the kiddies and all. 



[84] 



WITH PALMS OUT 

TuRNBURY, February 23. 
Mother Dear, — 

Your letter of the 4th came to-day, mentioning one you 
wrote in Boston which is being held at Cox's, and I shall 
get it when I go to London in a day or two. I am very anxious 
to read it and hear all about your trip to Boston in detail, 
for of course I am very interested about it. 

I am afraid, Mother, you are taking things much harder 
than you need, the tantalizing slowness of things at home, 
the bad administration, etc. It does no good to get worked 
up about them, for it makes one feel so impotent, and yet 
it makes the desire to effect some change so keen that one 
can't be happy, and being unhappy won't help. Many 
things are discouraging, and yet if you don't look at them 
too closely but stand off and see them as a whole, then you 
can see how really much has been done, and that it is all so 
new and on such a scale that it can't be done all of a sud- 
den; the men in control are not used to such dimensions and 
so temporarily cannot think in such large numbers, but it 
will make them grow as the work does. On such a tre- 
mendous scale, where so many complexities are involved, it 
would be impossible for the whole thing to be managed prop- 
erly, efficiently and swiftly all at once. But it will come 
about in time; it is all the time gathering up momentum 
which once started cannot be stopped. 

The Allies are still very strong and can well keep going 
till America is completely ready. If America were no- 
where in sight, the Allies might be discouraged, for, 
though they could not be beaten, it would be a long 
costly struggle. But with the sure knowledge of the 
ultimate unlimited power which America will furnish, 
the whole morale is braced ; they say, " Not only will 
we win, but we will win decisively." They pluck up 
their courage and can do even more than they normally would, 
and it does n't matter if America does n't start for six months 
or a year; once she does, it will be with a strength that can't 
be resisted. 

Over here, after going on four years, things are often 
mismanaged, and valuable time wasted, yet all in all there 

[85] 



is always slow but certain improvement. So it will be 
the same there. Don't let an immediate difficulty shut 
out, by its narrowness, the whole truth which can be seen by 
standing off at a distance. Coal is short, but that is not 
so much present-day mismanagement as conditions brought 
about by bad management and financial exploitation 
long before the war. It is a nuisance and a dis- 
comfort, but it will be straightened out in time. You know 
what meat-eaters and tea-drinkers the English have al- 
ways been. Then to have but a few ounces of meat per week 
and often drink their tea with little or no sugar, is bringing 
the sense of war pretty close, yet it really is remarkable how 
little complaint and criticism there is. 

You know how natural it is psychologically for people to 
think everything is wrong when something close to them, a life- 
long physical taste, is meddled with, even if there is no direct 
connection. I think the way rationing has been accepted in 
England is one of the most encouraging things I have found. 
There is enough food but none to waste, and it is very regular, 
so one often wishes for just one feast of everything that can't 
be had. The fact that the situation is accepted so well speaks 
well for the way things are going. Of course they are more 
used to the idea of privations of one sort or another here, 
but America will get used to it in time. So when trying con- 
ditions come, and evils are revealed, you must hold them in 
their right value and not let them depress you. And never 
let things get into you personally. It is one thing to think 
about them, and another to get all heated up about them. 

I go about as it were, hands with palms out, all about my 
heart, holding things outside of it. I am conscious of things I 
don't like, or discomforts sometimes, and things I wish could 
be true, etc., but I won't let them get into the inside where they 
hurt. If I can change them, I can do it just as well keeping 
them outside, and if I can't change them, well, what does it 
matter, it 's outside. It does n't make me indifferent to things 
which deserve consideration, merely insensible. You must 
do this, it's not hard, and you will find how much more 
quickly a day goes by, and after all how pleasant it is. So 
much for your concern about outside things. 

Of course, being my mother, you feel concerned about me; 
but, except for just missing me, I don't want you to have an- 

[86] 



other uncomfortable feeling in your heart, no worry about 
my health or comfort, or happiness, nothing of this sort. For 
any limitations of physical comfort are so ridiculously slight, 
especially compared with most, that it would really be good 
for me if I had more. And little petty annoyances are good 
for one's self-control; besides, as I said, I don't let them 
get inside. I have never been in better health. And I am 
completely content, for it seems as if I was never so rich 
or ever hoped to be. I have absolutely nothing in the world 
to ask for, for myself. My friends and family have never 
meant as much to me, and you are all so good to me. And 
in addition, the interest and satisfaction of my work is of 
such a nature that nothing that can happen matters to me. 

You see you have no need to feel anything but gladness for 
me, so no more must you have any troublesome feelings in 
your heart except harmless missing, which doesn't hurt 
when you know I am happy as I am. Don't say to yourself, 
"I mustn't let him see my depression or worries." Don't 
€ven get all braced and say you wont let yourself feel 
them. Just relax and donH feel them. Even when I'm Out 
There you must n't feel any dread or worry. We get better 
food out there and are done with the petty things of train- 
ing, and we will be right at the real work, so I shall be even 
happier than now. And if it should happen that — I just 
stopped being conscious, it wouldn't matter, because there 
was no regret and no dread, just perfect content. And you 
will not dread any such event, for it is not a bit likely to 
happen. My examination mark has n't been reached yet by 
the two groups which have passed out since my group. It 
was 94%, the average on all the tests we had, and they 
never give much higher. But if the Event came you may 
miss me, but it won't hurt, for there will be no vain regret, 
because I am so perfectly content. So remember. Mother 
mine, you are going to relax, begin at once and keep it up, 
and people will wonder at you, that you are so serene and 
can do so much because your strength isn't being wasted by 
groundless or ineffective troubles, and when they ask your 
secret you can say that we are both so content with our sit- 
uation as it is, that one can't be otherwise than serene. 

You spoke of being more conscious of the grim realities 

[87] 



than heretofore. To me the grim things somehow fade into 
unrealities in comparison with the realities of the heart and 
mind which are so vivid to me. I spend so many long happy 
hours with you all every day that my heart is completely 
filled with them, and I am very happy. I am glad you sent 
the little farm album, for so many of my hours are spent 
over it. I often go way back to the days when we were kids, 
with Ned, and the Blodgetts and Miss Noyes, over at Hill- 
top, and again later at the knoll when Vincent and the Platts 
and the slews of kids gave plays and had picnics. There 
isn't one single unhappy memory any^where in the whole re- 
view. And I often roam there in the future planning the 
things I shall do and the fun it will be to show all the corners 
to Grace, the little trips we can take to Lost River, etc. And 
those drives up back of Harvey hill, and down into Lyman, 
etc. That wonderful ride we had with Betty and Mrs. Dodge 
was such fun. 

It does n't do any harm to live in these things at 
this time if I wish, so long as I do my work well, does it? 
You see, I never realized what a happy life you had made 
for me till I had this chance to get away and look at it. Now 
when I come back I shall be able, I hope, to give some of it 
back to you, because I think I know better how to do it. I 
sometimes feel as if I am taking too much good out of such 
a rotten thing as war. But still if we all do, then it will 
be worth the cost, and there must not be another, because it 
isn't fair to mothers. You must tell me all the feelings 
you have. Don't hide them, but do abolish them. . . . 



[88] 



LONDON AGAIN 

The Royal Club for Officers, 

Beyond the Seas 

At the Royal Automobile Club 

Pall Mall, London, S. W. 

February 26. 

Dear Father, — 

I came back to town last night, arriving this morning rather 
fagged after sitting up all night. Of course I slept some, 
but you know what it amounts to. Still, there is a war on, so 
what does it matter? We reported at the Air Board and 
were given instructions to proceed to-morrow to cross over, 
and over there we will be told where to go. 

I was a little bit afraid we might be sent to Italy, where it 
would be novel and interesting of course, but not on the titanic 
scale of things as in France. I had to do considerable hustling 
round to get all my errands done, but I succeeded all right. I 
am having a nice uniform made to change into from this same 
old one which I shall keep for work only, as it is getting pretty 
badly spotted up with engine oil. The pilots out there take 
pride in the signs of use their work uniforms show, the blacker 
the better. The new one I'm having made is of the " Univer- 
sal " type, the turn-down collar, big pockets, etc., which officers 
in the other branches wear. It is perfectly regulation, and 
nice to have the change and additional comfort. I also 
bought a good substantial pair of heavy top boots for service 
there. And several other smaller items completed my imme- 
diate needs for which I was obliged to call on you. But my 
name has just gone through the Gazette, so by April first I 
can send a draft back to you and we will be squared up. 

I found several letters for me at Cox's and it made my 
advent to town extra pleasant. One from Wilson, Mother's 
from Boston, and a couple from Grace written at that time. 
I can't tell you what a comfort and joy the frequent letters 
from you all mean to me. I have never known anything like 
it, and it makes me very happy all the time. I'm so glad you 
had a good chance to see Grace while in Boston, for it is easier 
to get to know people if a little time elapses and you can see 
them again for a second time. . . . 

This afternoon I ran down to Andover to get my trunk 

[89] 



which I had left there. I had less than an hour between 
trains, but it gave me a chance to see several of my friends 
that I crossed over with in December. They are all still there 
and due for another month or six weeks before they even go 
to Turnbury, because, as is always the case, new require- 
ments are always being created. It made me very glad that 
I had escaped when I did. For it is in the nature of an 
escape. While these practices and tests are valuable, they 
are not essential, and take months to go through, and at the 
end they are not as effective as after a week at the front. 

I am spending the night here very pleasantly, indulging in 
various luxuries such as a good varied dinner (greater in 
variety though more limited in certain things than our mess), 
eaten slowly, with a bit of wine, and music, a cigar after- 
wards, and a sense of quiet and freedom. 

You need have no worry at all, for I am absolutely primed 
in every way, health, spirits, training, equipment. Hereafter 
I hope to be able to have more interesting things to write 
about to add to that epistolary classic which you have 
collected. 

Much love to all. 



[90] 



ON THE WESTERN FRONT 

18th Squadron, R. F. C. 

r, Ti/r 1 7 r- 7 Marcli Ist, Frauce \19\^^. 

Dear Mother and bather, — ■- -■ 

Well, my guess which I made early in January about 
when I would get out here came true, for it was just after 
midnight last night when I came in. We had a very pleasant 
crossing, a beautiful day, almost a Hilltop day, warm and 
clear. We traveled up to a certain sort of distribution sta- 
tion from which the various squadrons draw. There one 
often has to wait a week or two, but I was lucky enough to 
get out the same evening, though I am sorry to say the two 
fellows I came with are left there. But they may come here 
later. 

I was astonished at the smooth way that transportation 
was managed. At each stage our names were on a list and 
we were told at once what to do and where to go. The last 
stage of my journey, about forty miles, was made in a motor. 
It was quite fun tearing along through little dark towns, one 
after another, and over the countryside on the Lombard y- 
poplar-lined roads. It was an exquisite night, nearly full 
moon and not a cloud. 

This squadron has more than come up to my hopes, the 
officers impress me as being nice chaps and I expect will be 
very pleasant to work with. I have noticed, while coming 
over and since being here, that as individuals the officers are 
much better than those we came across when in the training 
squadrons. They seem more like real men doing a man's 
work, and it makes one feel a bit more of a man to be with 
them. I don't expect I shall do anything for a few days till I 
have a flip round the country and get used to my machine. 
I'll write at greater length then. 

Hereafter you can use the above address and letters will 
come direct. 

Much love. 

18th Squadron, R. F. C. 

J)ear Os— ^' ^' ^'' ^^^^^^' ^^^^^ ^ [1918]. 

I have received a couple of letters from you written round 
Christmas time, but have waited to write you till I got out 
here and had something worth telling about. You loiow what 

[91] 



a fuss the women make as soon as you get into a uniform. 
They begin attributing all sorts of brave qualities to you 
while you are safely training that you really scarcely deserve 
when actually in service, and it makes you feel a bit of an im- 
postor till you are in a position where there is some ground 
for their implications. Then one feels better about it. 

We are located well back of the lines where it is peaceful 
and quiet, only the big guns can be heard and they are just 
a sound, not a noise, just a reminder that there is a war on, 
which one often forgets in the fuss and stir that is often 
made over inconsequential things in training. But we work 
on a fairly important sector of the front and it is going to be 
vastly interesting. Our work is photography, reconnoissance 
and bombing, and it is therefore something different each trip 
and far more interesting than scout fighting or artillery rang- 
ing. We have splendid machines, faster than anything in 
the air at high altitudes, and in a few months expect to have 
even better ones, an improvement on these. The casualties 
in our work are surprisingly few and yet our squadron has 
a good record for accounting for Huns that try to interrupt 
us. We only fight defensively, but are well able to do that. 
They give new men three weeks to get used to the machine 
and become familiar with the country before going over the 
lines. A very good way to work into it gradually, you see. 

We live very comfortably in huts made of galvanized iron 
in the shape of a half -barrel cut lengthwise, with windows in 
the ends. They are divided into four rooms with just two 
officers in each, and so are roomy, secluded and comfortable. 
So far as possible a pilot rooms with his observer, for it is 
essential that they know each other well so as to have confi- 
dence in each other in the air and know what the other will 
do or would have you do in certain situations when it has to 
be done too quickly to give time for explanation, a little dual 
teamwork, and of course the better you work together, the 
better results you will achieve. We have a batman (orderly) 
to each hut, who keeps our boots, belts and buttons polished, 
a fire going in the morning and generally cleans up round, 
and when you go anywhere, packs up for you. Pretty soft! 
The mess is not a bit bad, and the officers in our squadron 
very pleasant chaps and they have been most agreeable to me 
on just coming in. 

[92] 



Three months from now I can begin to look for a couple of 
weeks' leave. Perhaps by that time you will be over and can 
get away for a day or two so we can meet and have a chat. 
I certainly hope so as I will be keen to see you and some of 
my friends I hope to get in contact with who are in various 
American camps over here. Pol Roger is only fifteen francs 
per quart, so we can have a good party. Here's to it! Cheery 
oh! 

18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
B. E. F., France, March 3 [1918]. 
Dear Beth, — 

Just a line or two to-day, for I gave most of the news of 
my situation to Oswald in the letter I sent him by you. 

Thus far the weather has been dull for flying, so I have 
been getting a good rest and have amused myself in reading 
and catching up with my correspondence. We have a fairly 
passable piano in the mess, so I am getting my hand in once 
more. When I left I forgot my music, which I left on your 
piano. Do you suppose you could gather it together and 
roll it up and send it to me? Have the ends open and label 
it, and it will come all right. There isn't much, — the four 
books of MacDowell, the old favorites, and one or two others. 
And if you happen to have anything that is interesting and 
not too hard I would enjoy working on it. 

Unless the front line should change decidedly we are likely 
to remain here indefinitely, so I am getting settled down com- 
fortably, arranging my things as I wish and putting little 
conveniences about here and there which give a touch of com- 
fort and hominess to my billet. And on dull days I expect 
I can get quite a bit of time at the piano. I am very glad of 
that, for I have missed it greatly heretofore. 

Speaking of dull days, when there is no flying we don't 
have to get up in the morning till we wish — up till 9.30, 
when breakfast is over; so our batman comes round to light 
the fire, and when we ask him what sort of a day it is, he 
replies, "Very properly dull, sir." It is really a most lei- 
surely life even on good days, for the work is only a matter 
of a few hours and then there is the rest and quiet of this 
camp. But it doesn't chafe one to do nothing out here as it 
did while in training, for we are on the spot and ready to 

[93] 



work when weather permits. Other times all sorts of games 
of Rugby and field hockey are got up among ourselves or 
with the mechanics. 

I went to a boxing match yesterday held at another camp 
and saw some very good boxing. But what was particularly 
amusing — I had no sooner entered the building than the 
band began to play the William Tell storm scene, and I al- 
most imagined I was back in our library with the old Victrola. 

I wish I could tell you where I am, for you could imagine 
when reading the communiques whether I was in it or not, 
but it is absolutely forbidden. Also cameras are not permit- 
ted in France in the Army, so I can take no pictures. I am 
sorry about that, for they would make an interesting record, 
but I will have to make increased effort to draw the pictures 
in words. 



[94] 



18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
B. E. F., France, March 4, 1918. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

The weather has continued bad for flying, so I have been 
free to get settled down here. Unlike in training, one doesn't 
mind bad weather with its delays, for we aren't set at arbi- 
trary work for the mere sake of being busy, but can use the 
time as we wish. Also it used to be unpleasant to have any- 
thing delay my coming out here, but once here it doesn't 
matter, for we are on the spot and ready, and if we can't fly, 
neither can the Hun, so such a wait is n't a waste of time. 

I am getting better acquainted with the fellows now and they 
have included me in their number very pleasantly. I was 
particularly gratified that the observer I am rooming with 
asked especially to be detailed to work with me, for he had 
only myself to judge by, not having seen me fly yet. It is 
most fortunate for me, as he has had several months' experi- 
ence in the work and knows the country well. He is a Scotch- 
man, fine-looking and most agreeable, about twenty-eight or 
thirty, I should judge, with lots of common sense and poise. 
I can feel complete confidence in him when I go up, and you 
can readily see that is important to successful co-operation 
in emergencies. He was a bombing officer in the infantry 
before joining the R. F. C. and has been in since the begin- 
ning, having fought in France, Egypt and Salonika, and is 
most interesting to talk to. I shall be well off working 
with him, so you need have less anxiety. Living together this 
way we often get talking of our work, and he can give me 
many valuable points and tips. 

We live in a cosy little hut and I am getting it all fixed up 
with the little conveniences which make for one's comfort. I 
dare say we shall be here perhaps permanently so long as I 
am in France, so I can completely unpack and feel at home. 
I am going to tack up the various pictures which I have of 
you all, and of my friends, and so I will seem actually with 
you all the time. We have a new piano in the mess and 
several fairly good players, and I shall get a lot of pleasure 
out of it, for I can take myself completely out of my sur- 
roundings when playing, and find lots of calm comfort in it. 

We have plenty of the things that are short elsewhere in 
our mess, — that is, sugar, butter, bread, etc., and nice jam 

[95] 



for breakfast and tea, — so if you are sending me the peri- 
odical food-boxes you needn't include any sugar, and I find 
I can buy dates in the near-by town very reasonably, but they 
have n't good figs. So what you might send now is figs, choc- 
olate, fruit-cake, — I haven't had a bit of cake for months 
and I understand fruit-cake keeps well, — Lord Salisbury 
cigarettes and matches. You might put in a ten-cent tin of 
Lucky Strike tobacco also, for French tobacco is quite im- 
possible and I don't like English. These things will come 
through out here all right if you send them to the address 
above, and I believe you have to leave an end so it can be 
opened. Don't try to send much at once, just a small parcel 
which can come quickly by mail, and it will be such a treat 
to receive it. Put in three or four boxes of matches, for 
they are extremely scarce, and tell Oswald to bring some 
with him for himself when he comes. He needn't bother 
about sugar except a little to use when on leave, for they 
seem to keep the Army well supplied. Every one carries a 
little bottle of saccharine when he goes out to tea in England 
and it works very well. I should appreciate a book from 
time to time, as we do a good deal of reading on off days. 
But you don't need to feel any sympathy, for we are unpar- 
donably comfortable. I think if you would send me Current 
Opinion it would be nice, as it deals with much in addition 
to the war and gives good summaries. I believe it comes out 
once a month or fortnight. I seem to be asking for a good 
deal, but I expect you want to do things, and these I would 
appreciate greatly. 

Much love to all the family. 

TO HIS YOUNGER BROTHER 

18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
B. E. F., France, March 4, 1918. 
Dear Line, — 

I have been meaning to write you for a long time, but I 
am carrying a rather large correspondence with the various 
spread-out members of the family; so I decided to let yours 
go until I got out here, believing you would be pleased to 
know I am actually in active service at the Front, at last. 
Father enclosed one of your letters to him, written in Jan- 

[96] 



uary, and I am glad to hear from it that you are getting along 
so well in track. But a recent letter from Mother, telling me 
of her visit to Mr. Meigs, and your results since, have pleased 
me more; for you seem, at last, to be playing the game, and 
that is the right thing for you to do. If you can make good 
at Hill in studies, as well as socially and in athletics, then 
you will have acquired the habits of mind and morals to in- 
sure your success in anything else you may undertake — war 
or business. 

But you must remember to be cautious, and not be content, 
or relax after one week of good record; it means day after 
day, month after month, never relaxing your pace, to get any- 
where near the top. The man who is at the top has no better 
equipment than you have, but merely used what he had to 
the utmost; and you must learn that there is absolutely 
nothing you cannot do if you set your mind to it. It is a case 
of ambition and desire sufficiently strong to make untiring 
effort worth while. 

In this flying game, for instance, I have felt that my indi- 
vidual excellence would do much toward insuring my return. 
There, you see, was the desire — life or death — as incentive 
to make my utmost effort to master all my work. As a result, 
I am glad to tell you that I went through the gunnery school 
in Scotland with an average mark of 94%, which was the 
best of my group of twenty fellows; in other words, mental 
as well as physical superiority. Yet I was not so well 
equipped as some. I did n't waste my time, or let myself 
be content with " well-enough," but only with the best. 

You may see no value or connection in your doing like- 
wise in the matter of Latin verbs, and such things; but there 
is a connection; for it is not the verb which you master, it is 
the dent in your brain which the effort to master has put 
there, and it will make the next job you tackle that much 
easier for you to do. 

When so much besides your own welfare depends upon 
your playing the game to the limit, — the ease of mind and 
gratification it will mean to Mother and Father; the increased 
freedom which I can feel to meet whatever may come to me, 
knowing that my absence, if I should fall, will be no perma- 
nent loss, and that you are learning to live so that you can fill 
my place in the Adams line ; I am sure you will do your best. 

[97] 



Also, when you flunk a job, you are not getting out of it 
the value equivalent to the money which Father puts in. That 
is a waste, and even that waste, indirect as it may seem, does 
affect the total, and so is wrong in times like these. I am 
confident you will do the right thing, but you must remember 
that a succession of spurts will never win the race. That 
just wears you out. It is the steady pace, which all the 
time grows a little stronger, that pulls you out ahead. Stick 
to it! 

I have n't much war news to give you yet, for I have only 
been out here at the Front a few days, and the weather has 
been too bad to fly. But we are in a most interesting section 
of the Front, near a place you have often read about, and all 
the time we can hear the sound of the big guns, which oc- 
casionally increases to steady thunder when Fritz starts a 
raid, or something. It will be lively here this summer, and 
I shall have some interesting stories to tell you when I get 
home. 



[98] 



ACTIVE SERVICE 

18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
B. E. F., France, March 7, 1918. 
Dear Mother and Father, — 

I have now added the last few touches to my room and it 
is indeed cosy. On the walls round about my table I have 
tacked up pictures of all the family and some of my friends, 
"Poof," "Woof," Elmer, etc., and sitting here in the se- 
clusion with your faces all about me I am very happy. I 
even have the picture of our house which was on the calen- 
dar. And when it rains the patter of the drops on the gal- 
vanized iron roof muffled by the sheathing inside carries me 
way back to the old Irvingcroft house with its tin roofs. 
Such is the association of ideas, for I no sooner heard it 
than the old house came into my mind. 

But there is such a lot of comfort in pictures, — I never 
realized it so truly before. I look at one and seem to talk to it 
on the view of interest with that one, thus with the next, and I 
switch onto that bond. Even old Grandpa Kilbum is here, and 
of course all the kids, though I have n't a good picture of 
" Howie." How you all seem to be looking at me so nicely, 
and how I love you all for the kind wishes and love I see in 
your eyes. 

The last two days have been wonderfully clear and warm, 
so our squadron has pulled off a couple of " shows." Perhaps 
if I describe one so far as I saw it, and as what I did n't see 
was reported to me, it will give you a little better idea of the 
procedure. 

Every morning our batman reports on the weather pros- 
pects, and when it is clear we have to get up a bit earlier. 
After breakfast a conference is held at which the purpose 
and objective of the trip are given and any details arranged 
for. Then the men who are going put on their flying kit and 
go out to the machines. These have previously been rolled 
out of the hangars, filled up with fuel, guns loaded, bombs, 
cameras, etc., attached, and everything shipshape. Each 
pilot gets in, the engine is started and warmed up, finally the 
chocks are pulled away from the wheels and the machines 
taxi out onto the aerodrome and line up ready to take off, 
the engine snorting and sputtering impatiently. 

[99] 



As they wabble over the ground the machines look so clumsy 
and ill at ease, with tails dragging and bumping, noses up in 
the air. The leader takes his place on the line, his machine 
indicated by some streamers. There have been no farewells 
or good-luck wishes, the men have started off as if they were 
off in a car to go to an office ; it is not masked indifference, it 
is simple matter of course. 

All are ready, and the leader, followed immediately by 
the others, opens out the throttle, and the machines move 
faster and faster, tails up now and noses low and level, like 
a runner stooping a bit on his run before a spring. The 
wheels trip along, each time touching more lightly, till with 
a final bound the machine is clear. What a fearful roar they 
make, great powerful engines unmuffled, wide open. 

One after another they leap into the air and at once are 
transformed from ugly ducklings to beautiful swans, at home 
and happy in their natural element, as they arch round and 
round, ever higher. Finally when they are sufficiently high 
they move off in their close formation in an arrow line for 
their objective, finally fading out of sight. 

Some hours later they come in sight again and glide 
in, some as fresh as when they left, others so badly cut 
up you wonder how the machine could hold together. Then 
we hear the story told in the form of a simple report, still 
all as a matter of course. How they flew undisturbed to their 
objective though noticing a large number of Hims in various 
parts of the sky as they flew along. But when they turned 
to come back the Huns had gathered over thirty counted 
against our four, a veritable swarm between them and home. 

And yet without hesitation our machines fly straight at them! 
They break up into groups and surround our machines on 
all sides, above, below, each side, before, behind, all dis- 
charging their venomous sting when a good sight is ob- 
tained, darting in for a burst of shots, soaring up or diving 
away one after another, a continuous melee. Our machines 
zigzag from time to time, but always progress toward home 
unless some Hun more persistent than others has to be turned 
on. 

Meanwhile our men, scarcely knowing which machine 
to pick out to fire at, keep sending off bursts whenever they 
get a good sight. When a Hun receives a burst a bit too close 

[100] 



he dives for home, and when a machine is hit, several others 
accompany it down for a way to cool off. They are no 
sports, these Huns, they will never attack unless with over- 
whelming odds, and even then they never come across the 
lines, so in case of engine failure they are sure to get safely 
home. Yet our few machines over hostile territory fly 
straight into the swarm of them, bring down six, and all re- 
turn and have but one man hit. It isn't luck that they come 
through; it is superior shooting due to a large steady ma- 
chine, a sporting blood in the men that makes them play the 
game, no matter what the odds. 

Though the Hun has a decided advantage fighting over 
his own territory, it is a large factor in his defeat, for it 
is an open acknowledgment of his inferiority, and it only 
takes a little spirit and some cool shooting to make him sick. 
You see. Mother, no matter what the odds, we have all 
the advantage, and, after all, it is seldom that they get 
as large a bunch as that together. For instance, on 
the " show " to-day not a single one was sighted. So 
at their worst you see you have little to worry about, and 
they are seldom at their worst. Also we never fight except 
defensively, only when they interfere with our work or try 
to keep us from getting home, and then they regret it, for 
we are well equipped for defense. 

I wouldn't have given all these details if I were not sure 
you would extract the interest and not let the exciting fea- 
tures make you worry. For I want you to know all about 
the work and yet see in it the small element of danger and 
the very great interest which you couldn't have if I told 
nothing about it for fear of worrying you. There are some 
Hun machines which will go higher than these we use, but 
there is no machine made by any nation as fast at the high 
altitude where we work; and speed is king. 

Must get to bed now. Much love to all. 



[101] 



THE LAST LETTER 

March 11 [1918']. 
Dear Father and Mother, — 

Two days ago another batch of letters came, including a 
couple of papers and the little album which I was most 
amused to look over. The valentine from Mother was much 
appreciated, with its nice sentiment. By the way, so far as 
possible it would be a good idea for you all to let Father 
put your letters in his envelopes with his official stamp on 
them, for they always seem to get here several days before the 
others when written at the same time. I believe they go 
through the censor in England more quickly. There was a 
nice letter from Grace in the bunch and Mother's of the 10th. 
Also a very nice long letter from Mrs. Cameron, Woof's 
mother, whom I wrote in January for Woof's address. She was 
awfully good to us while at college, and I spent many happy 
week-ends out at their home in Westford. 

I have sent several pictures cut from papers to Grace show- 
ing various phases of our work, and if they get through to 
her, as no doubt they will, she will send them to you. If she 
doesn't want them back will you keep them for me, as we 
aren't allowed to have cameras in France, and I will want 
them as a record for my scrapbook when I return. 

You must expect mails to take longer from out here and to 
be more irregular, but I hope you will not allow yourselves to 
become alarmed if a long period elapses at any time, for if 
there were any cause due to me, you would have heard long be- 
fore the gap came by cable. And now don't hold your breath 
in apprehension of a cable any day. Contrary to your belief. 
Mother, I am in one of the very safest branches I could be 
in because of our splendid machines which are faster than 
anything in the air at the altitudes where we work — over 
three miles up. 

And in a very few months we are to have even better 
machines, the same as these, only improved. Our work is 
safer than that of the others because of the machines, the 
height, and the fact that we don't look for trouble, but only 
fight when attacked; and on Wednesday last, when Haig 
congratulated the brigade for bringing down eighteen Huns, 
our one squadron, perfectly peaceable by nature, taught six 

[102] 



out of that number that we can well defend ourselves. On 
that occasion, over thirty Huns attacked only four of ours, 
and ours all came back. 

But while we are on the subject I want to caution you about 
a possibility. One of our machines has been reported miss- 
ing a day or so ago, but it was only engine failure and the 
machine was seen to have safely landed, so the occupants 
are safe but unhappily detained in Hun-land. Frequently 
no word is brought from them, and no one sees what be- 
came of a machine. So you see, a man may be quite all 
right who simply disappeared and was reported missing. 
The case is not likely to arise, however, as our engines as 
a rule are very reliable. It is merely a possibility which in 
case it happened I want you to know there is no need to 
worry — less than ever, for it would mean simply a safe 
but long wait for the war to end. 

I think I am receiving all your mail, as there have not 
been any wide gaps in their dates; the gaps come only 
in their receipt. Four of Grace's were lost, but they were 
among the earlier ones; we write several times a week 
usually, so we know if any are lost. Possibly some 
may have been on the cruiser that was lost last week; 
if so, I shall loiow in a short while. But I believe the mail 
is distributed among a number of ships as a rule, so only a 
small amount is lost with one ship. That ship, by the way, 
convoyed us over, so I am familiar with her. 

The new uniform I had made in London when I left came 
to-day and is very good-looking. It will be nice to have 
to change into for dinner, and for going on leave, etc. I am 
getting all the time more comfortably settled and am very 
happy here. Each day I manage to get in a flight of an 
hour or two, becoming familiar with the country, meanwhile 
picking up many valuable points from talking with the fel- 
lows. Love to all. 

{Received on Easter Morning — 1918) 

Mother Mine, — 

This is just a little Easter greeting to make you know I 
am actually close by you all the time. May it give you much 
cheer and happiness. 

Tender love. 

[103] 




Memorial Tablet erected by Lieutenant 
Adams's sister and her husband. Captain 
O. D. Pfoelzer, on an old pine tree in the 
forest at Hilltop Farms, Littleton, New 
Hampshire. 



W92 



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